I’m breaking up with you. Our trial period of being together has been good, but rocky and these last two weekends of me being 21 has just made me realize that you and I do NOT belong together. Every time we hang out you convince me to yell at people in foreign languages, dance like an idiot, or my personal favorite, throw up in my bathroom and hit everywhere but the toilet. Seriously man, I thought we could be pals and make this work, but that’s clearly not the case. All I want is to have a nice relaxing glass of wine after a long hard day and not wake up the next day with my alcohol supply completely depleted and a headache to make even the toughest of alcoholics want to give up the liquid. If you and I could come to an agreement about how I act when I am under your influence, I’d love to have you back in my life, but if we can’t, then I’m going to have to stick with Mister Marijuana.
Disappointedly yours,
Me
