When we first got together I thought you hung the moon, or moons, but of late you've been letting me down, both figuratively and literally. I don't want to sound ungrateful for the support you've given me in the past, but I don't think this is working out anymore. You're just not taking care of yourself like you use to, you've let yourself go-- one of your hooks has turned sideways, making me spend ten minutes trying to wiggle it into the eye-thing. And how about that underwire that has escaped and become an overwire- poking me in the chest and wreaking all kinds of havoc?
Look, I love the way you lift and separate, but I hate the way you bind and suffocate. It's a classic love-hate relationship, but I can't play these games anymore.
We're just not the same bra and jurl that started this relationship. Maybe I'm not meant to be with any bra, maybe I just need to be free. I've never liked feeling restricted and you've known since the beginning how I feel about back fat bra-overhang.
It's time for us to part, but unlike those hairy ladies of the 1970s, I won't burn you, just replace you. Don't feel bad, you'll make some nice homeless person a pair of hats.
With love and hate,