Dear Thong,

I think we both know this has been a long time coming. I tried to love you; I really did. But– and I know this is harsh– I really don’t even like you at all. And it’s not me; it’s you.

I tried for years to pretend things were okay with us– I went about my business, usually with other undergarments, and you turned a blind eye, keeping to yourself in the back of the underwear drawer. But we were never really okay, were we?

Sure, I’d turn to you when I felt like the occasion really called for it– you made me think I needed you once in a while. You made promises that you could never keep, and I kept trying to believe them because I wanted them to be true. But only a fool keeps believing what she’s seen disproved, and I’m nobody’s fool. Not anymore.