I knew we needed to end things. He was never there for me. I’d come home after a long day at work, wanting nothing more than a glass (well, a bottle really) of wine, a couch, and some of his sweet loving, and he’d give me nothing but grief.
“He” was my cable TV provider. (I’ll let him remain anonymous, but let’s just say his initials are TWC and he’s sort of a big deal.) We were together for just over two years (at least in our last incarnation, but you know, there were several more years of “on and off” stuff before that). There were good times (many of them having to do with Bravo or Tina Fey), but there were bad times too. Oh, were there bad times.
“I just can’t take this anymore,” I tipsily told a customer service representative one night. There I was, wanting nothing more than to erase my workday with some Viognier and Top Chef, but it wasn’t working. The sound popped in and out of the recording, rendering it tragically unwatchable. More