Dear 8820
Lets not beat around the bush, you’re no spring chicken anymore. I admit, we’ve had some great times: from putting you on the roof of my car and driving off, dropping you in the men’s urinal, to just mindlessly jumping in pools with you. But old friend, I think you’re on your last legs. Your boot-up hour glass is slowly but surely, actually becoming an hour. What was once a young, sprightly track ball now struggles to go in basic directions like up, or down. There was a time when your sexy sleekness kept me awake at nights. Now, I can barely stand to bare your worsening digital arthritis. Just remember, through thick and thin, I’ve always loved you.
Xoxo,
Ace
No comments:
Post a Comment