Dear Gym Bag,
It has been a good run my friend. We have been through a lot together…shared many a laugh and many a tear. It is with great pride that I am able to call you my gym bag. You are held in the highest esteem gym bag and you have most assuredly earned your stripes as they say.
I can still recall taking you out of the box gym bag. You were young and clean and rarin’ to go. You even had that new gym bag smell. You jumped in with both feet, or in your case, both straps gym bag. You were so eager to learn and haul. No matter what I threw in you, you just gobbled it up and protected my privates as if they were your own gym bag. And I got to know you as well gym bag, your many zippers and compartments and where you liked what. I knew where to hide the camera for our secret locker room videotaping and you never made a peep. Shhh. It’s called symbiosis gym bag.
And oh the experiences we shared gym bag! Remember that time after my first marathon when I spilled orange Gatorade all over you and you didn’t even get mad? Or when the energy gels squirted all over you and all you did was smile? Or how about when you lost my car keys after that 5k and I almost lit you on fire? Remember when we both had a good laugh when I put my ball bag in you? Who knew Rawlings’ balls needed extra support? Good times, gym bag…good times.
But as Brett Farvre once quivered, all good things must come to an end and it is no different with you and I gym bag. And while we have grown old together and while you have been every bit the soldier that Kellen Winslow Jr was at Miami, we must <gasp> go our separate ways gym bag. I’m not going to disrespect you and give you the “It’s Not You, It’s Me” shtick gym bag. I owe you more than that. You’ve given it your all and you’ve served stoically, honorably, and you’ve always carried on…carrying things with the utmost grace and bottom support provided by your cardboard insert. But you see gym bag, you reek now and there is no amount of Febreze that can medicinally be applied to you. I know you have wicking material gym bag but you just wicked one too many times and the odors no longer dissipate. They stick like glue gym bag. A rancid glue. A guy at the work gym asked me if I had old bait in my locker gym bag! At the YMCA they thought I might be bringing in used diapers. It can’t go on this way old friend. Don’t you think we owe it to each other to be happy?
No! I won’t do that! I won’t Clorox! No bleach. Don’t make this worse than it is. I know I’m not perfect, don’t you think I know that! What does that have to do with you smelling like a worm’s fecal matter surrounded by anchovies in a musty Dorito’s bag?
It’s over gym bag, it’s just over. Just don’t forget me gym bag…and don’t tell anyone about that video.
I can still recall taking you out of the box gym bag. You were young and clean and rarin’ to go. You even had that new gym bag smell. You jumped in with both feet, or in your case, both straps gym bag. You were so eager to learn and haul. No matter what I threw in you, you just gobbled it up and protected my privates as if they were your own gym bag. And I got to know you as well gym bag, your many zippers and compartments and where you liked what. I knew where to hide the camera for our secret locker room videotaping and you never made a peep. Shhh. It’s called symbiosis gym bag.
And oh the experiences we shared gym bag! Remember that time after my first marathon when I spilled orange Gatorade all over you and you didn’t even get mad? Or when the energy gels squirted all over you and all you did was smile? Or how about when you lost my car keys after that 5k and I almost lit you on fire? Remember when we both had a good laugh when I put my ball bag in you? Who knew Rawlings’ balls needed extra support? Good times, gym bag…good times.
But as Brett Farvre once quivered, all good things must come to an end and it is no different with you and I gym bag. And while we have grown old together and while you have been every bit the soldier that Kellen Winslow Jr was at Miami, we must <gasp> go our separate ways gym bag. I’m not going to disrespect you and give you the “It’s Not You, It’s Me” shtick gym bag. I owe you more than that. You’ve given it your all and you’ve served stoically, honorably, and you’ve always carried on…carrying things with the utmost grace and bottom support provided by your cardboard insert. But you see gym bag, you reek now and there is no amount of Febreze that can medicinally be applied to you. I know you have wicking material gym bag but you just wicked one too many times and the odors no longer dissipate. They stick like glue gym bag. A rancid glue. A guy at the work gym asked me if I had old bait in my locker gym bag! At the YMCA they thought I might be bringing in used diapers. It can’t go on this way old friend. Don’t you think we owe it to each other to be happy?
No! I won’t do that! I won’t Clorox! No bleach. Don’t make this worse than it is. I know I’m not perfect, don’t you think I know that! What does that have to do with you smelling like a worm’s fecal matter surrounded by anchovies in a musty Dorito’s bag?
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