Saturday, 26 September 2020
We’re Through by Naomi Elana Zener
I don’t know how to tell you this any other way: I’M BREAKING UP WITH YOU!
I can’t believe this would come as a surprise. It’s not hard for me to do this. I never liked you during the best of times. And, if I’m being honest, I really would have done this a long time ago but for social convention happy to see us staying together.
My relationship with you was really out of necessity, and now that necessity has passed. We never go anywhere anymore. We can’t. Physical distancing, quarantine, house arrest, self-isolation, confinement, or whatever you want to call it prevents us from doing so. And, for the mere, brief daily exposure to the outside world we are still permitted, I don’t see the point in us being together anymore. When every level of government said everyone has to stay six feet apart from each other, I jumped for joy – to be six feet apart from you feels like heaven!
You gave me more displeasure than comfort. You certainly were agonizing to be around. To be with you stretched the limits of the bandwidth of my patience. I constantly had to pull at you to get what I needed, or rather what you promised to give me. Your limited adjustability always put me on the offensive—I was forever in a state of reacting, adapting and readjusting to bend to your will—rarely were you ever flexible. It was only as we neared this now inevitable breakup did you finally show some give, a tiny bit of willingness to see how I was feeling. But, even when you finally did that, it was too little too late. You couldn’t even stretch an inch, but for you I had to run miles.
And, I know what you’re thinking, what you’d accuse me of: I got fat. I became unattractive to be around; too much burden for you to bear. Well, that’s just nonsense. I’m the same size I was when we first met, the day you first embraced me and hooked me in. It’s you who changed, and not for the better. You may think our relationship made you worse for wear, but it’s me who bears the battle scars, and I’ll have to bear them for the rest of my life.
Truthfully, no one cares if we are together, either. It was a social courtesy for us to be with each other. Well, now thanks to the pandemic, much social courtesy has disappeared. So too, has this relationship. I’m finally free of you. While I should have done this a long time ago, I have this pandemic thank for helping me finally see the light. Staying home means I never have to see you again. There are many expressions of gratitude I need to share with you that were shared with me upon learning of our break up:
1. My shoulders thank me for doing this – the way you dug into them, no matter how well-fitted you were by the so-called “bra expert,” caused indentations for days;
2. My ribs are happy to no longer be the victim of abuse from your underwire;
3. My back echoes the sentiments of my shoulders. At the end of the day, when I got home, my back (and my shoulders) was always relieved to be rid of you;
4. My dresses are happy to see you go, as they felt unsightly when the bulge of skin in my back caused by your inflexible elastic pushed through their fabric. And, again, I’m not fat. It was always you, not me;
5. My husband is relieved on many levels. He no longer finds you lying in strange places in the house, after being flung about in my haste to be free of you. He’s thankful to no longer see our kids wearing you as a bizarre hair accessory. He’s thrilled to not having to hand-wash you. And, most of all, he no longer has to unhook you, a skill he failed to master, when he’s feeling “in the mood”; and
6. My breasts have expressed the deepest gratitude of all. They feel free, no longer restricted to each living daily in solitary confinement under your reign of oppressive terror.
Farewell, brassiere. Can’t say you were an old friend, or a friend at all. The only good thing to come out of this pandemic as I live in quarantine with my family is that I never have to wear you again. And, before you make plea for clemency, or say that I’ll need you again when we emerge from social solitude, to that I say, I’ll use glue or duct tape to bind my breasts if I have to before I ever wear you again.
Sayonara. Shalom. Dasvidaniya. Au revoir. Goodbye. Enjoy the Viking funeral that awaits you!
© 2020. Naomi Elana Zener. All Rights Reserved.