Towel = thrown.

The following also appeared on the fab PWD blog.

  

Dear Phillies,

By the time you read these lines, I’ll be gone.

After 26 years by your side, it’s time to walk away. We both deserve better.

For years I’ve been ignoring the signs that our relationship was slowly dying. The yelling, the throwing things. All the nights I walked out early on you. The way we seemed to stop speaking to each other every fall.

When we fought last October, I was sure you loved me enough to make it up to me by spring. But after that night last fall, I told myself I’d give you one more chance. Foolishly, I believed in you. I suppose the truth is I always wanted to believe in you. To believe that you might someday get around to making good on all those promises. But now, in April, I think we both know that this affair has run its course.

Our courtship consumed my youth, and I should have listened when friends said “First love never lasts.” But my adoration was pure and I was just a headstrong child. I was giddy to skip a day at work or school to spend time with you, and just wearing your clothes was enough to make me happy. And then we went through that enamored grungy stage together in the 90s. You with your ratty hair and bad attitude and me in my flannels. Even that ended with me crying into my pillow, vowing that it was over.

Lately, it seems like you just don’t want to listen to me. I used to think you longed to know me, cared about what I thought. But now I can see that you’ll never change. Even my mother hates you.

I’ve been talking with my friends, and they admit now they don’t know what I could see in you. They all seem so content and fulfilled in their own relationships. None of them live with the day-to-day assumption that the other shoe is about to drop. None of them go decades without celebrating their love.

It’s just… our relationship has gone from being my springtime joy to my daily heartbreak. A girl should be with the one who makes her feel good about herself, and loved. It breaks my heart to say it, but these days all I feel is neglected, disappointed, and angry. You could have tried harder.

Believe me when I say this hurts me more than it hurts you, Phillies. After all, we both know you’ve got other girls waiting in the wings, blinded by your boyish grin and tight pinstripes. As for me, I’m a girl without country now. I’m thinking of going back to Pittsburgh. I hear Chicago is lovely in the summer.

I won’t deny that this separation will be a difficult one. After 26 years together, I can hardly extinguish my love for you with only this letter. You know me well enough to know that as spring turns into summer’s hot, hot nights, you can probably expect a late-night call from me once or twice. Like so many times in the past, our reunion will be hateful, and brief. Please don’t call me in the morning.

I leave you in the hope that someday we may be friends again, though you’ve wounded me so deeply that I cannot begin to imagine when that time may come.

Whoomp, there it is.
S

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