Dear Outdoor Retailer,
As I sit here pounding my second bottle of (alcohol-free) Martinelli's and trying to piece together this farewell letter through cloudy vision, I can't help but reflect what a great twenty year run we had. As Roxette first sang in the 80's, it must have been love, but it's over now.
I wish I could say it's not you, it's me. But that would be as disingenuous as you were during recent negotiations with Governor Herbert. And while your break up was as painful as a Donald Trump press conference, I'd be lying if I said I didn't see it coming. For years you've been threatening to leave. The grass always seemed greener to you in another state, environmentally speaking.
I saw your texts to Colorado and the multiple phone calls to an Atlanta area code. Never mind that Atlanta is as outdoorsy as the Kardashians. I even saw your Facebook search history where you were checking out salacious pictures of Las Vegas. Really?! That Jezebel?! Read More about this broken love affair...
No comments:
Post a Comment