The Break-Up
Emaline Babcock says farewell to a relationship gone sour–with a little help from Oprah
Baby, I promised myself I wouldn’t beg but I at least need to speak my mind one last time. I know it’s late but baby, I can’t sleep since you kicked me out. I can’t do anything. I’ve been sick. You should see me baby, I’m green.
I mean, baby I just don’t understand. I let you down once, which is as much your fault as it is mine, and then you get rid of me. Tell me baby, is that fair? Answer me that. After all this time. I’m shocked…completely stunned.
How many years have we been together baby? How many years did I deal with your shit?
At first you kicked me out and I didn’t feel so bad. I thought I could go and do my own thing, but baby, I’m nothing without you. I realized that. I’ll probably end up in the gutter.
Don’t you realize what we had too? Baby, don’t you remember the good times we had? Remember when we went to Ireland? How special was that? We shared pints of Sam Adams and dishes of corned beef and cabbage. Remember baby? Or remember the rainy days, when we couldn’t do nothing but we wouldn’t let the weather get us down, we’d just stay in and dance to “Rubberband Man?” Just the two of us dancing. Shake that mid-section girl! I treated you right for the most part didn’t I baby? But then all of a sudden I’m out. What the fuck? Fuck you bitch! I hope you rot in Hell!
I think it’s a huge mistake but I’ll leave. You think you don’t need me baby, but you’ll miss me when I’m gone.
Yours,
Gallbladder
As I look at my life now, in this moment, I can only see serenity. My inner peace would not have been discovered had I not been enlightened by the wise words of my sister from a colored mister, Oprah, who said “Before you agree to do anything that might add even the smallest amount of stress to your life, ask yourself: What is my truest intention? Give yourself time to let a yes resound within you. When it’s right, I guarantee your entire body will feel it” (Say it loud say it proud, Amen).
The words of my girl, Oprah, truly saved my life the day I decided it was time to kick your good for nothing butt out the door! Although the idea of having surgery was scary for me, I couldn’t give power to my fears. A week or two of pain and intense gas was better than a lifetime of suffering caused by your puny, dark green ass. Thanks gallbladder, but the duodenum will take it from here now.
I’ve listened to you whining about, “all the good times” we shared in our 23 years together, but your pussy moans and groans are pointless, save them for someone who gives a damn. Our relationship had reached a dead end long before now but I convinced myself you were still serving some intricate role in my digestion. The truth is you were a lazy piece of shit with an endless list of excuses, “Oh, I’ll get rid of that bile sometime, quit your nagging” and “Well maybe if you didn’t eat those nachos last night and then wash it down with a 16 oz. Sam Summer I wouldn’t have this problem!” Like any abuser, you manipulated me into believing everything was my fault. Dominated and oppressed by knife-like abdominal pain, I became isolated. I had to stop going out with friends for a few beers all because you couldn’t handle my having a little fun. I minimized the hours of abdominal agony by telling myself, “It’s probably just a stomach ulcer.”
My “wake up moment” came one night when you beat me so bad I was curled up in the fetal position begging for the Lord’s mercy. I tried to puke, I tried to take a dump but the affliction was too much. I was sweating profusely, seeing stars, and thinking “This is it I’m going to die,” but then I heard Oprah’s voice. I wasn’t going to be someone’s bitch anymore. So I high-tailed it out of that crack house in Dot and took myself to the emergency room and I never looked back. The docs said that if I kept you I would have continued to be tortured by gallstones, and worse yet, if I kept you around I would have increased my risks for cancer.
So, sorry gallbladder, take a hike. Don’t try to contact me, don’t try to make things right, it’s over, we’re done. Forget fucking Ireland, let me tell you something about that trip. While you were passed out back at the hotel I had myself a grand old time with an Irish lad named Liam. I’ll never forget Killarney!
I kicked you to the curb. Because of the surgery, I couldn’t go to work. I got three weeks off from wiping old balls and cleaning puke off my shirt. Being on disability is great and being newly single is too! I suggest you get used to it. And now, if you don’t mind, I have a date with the rest of my digestive tract.
Emaline
