I am breaking up with you. It's not you, it's me.
I just feel like we've developed some weird co-dependancy thing and I believe our relationship has become a little unhealthy. Besides, if you'll pardon the pun, I'm not sure what you're bringing to the table? I think I'd prefer to hang out with some vegetables, sorry if that makes you sad.
We've had some good times you and I. One of my happiest memories is when you came to me all toasty and hot buttered after my babies were born. Tea and toast. Perfect for the ravenous hunger of a exhausted mama. It was comforting, like grandma food, after the ravages of labour. Thank you.
...And pasta! Lord, do you remember that trip through Italy when you kindly gave me an extra five kilos! I'd never been so happy we were friends. The sauce was a bonus but the chewy, toothsome You was spectacular! I could eat bowls and bowls of you washed down with a sticky red. (remember wine??)
France. Good God. France. I fell in love with that boy with the eyes like shiny copper coins. What was his name again? Doesn't matter, it's you that I remember. Those crusty, chewy loaves of glory. Wrapped in white paper, you smelt like hay and hot earth. Lord I worshiped you, I think that might be when we started spending too much time together.
Don't worry, I'm not scared of gluten and I'm sure I'll see you from time to time. I just feel like you show up and almost every meal. I miss you too much when you're not here, it's not healthy. I want to make room for other stuff, good grains, I'm a little tired of your neediness. It's just a little hard to digest you.
I've started seeing a little spelt and quinoa and buckwheat. Maybe one day we might be able to hang out occasionally, but for now, I need some space.
I hope you understand.