We need to talk. Yes, we do. For more than three years I relied on you, but, well, things just aren’t working for me anymore, dear. This may come as a total shock but I must inform you that I am on to you like a fly stuck on a sticky strip. You are not what you seem. Don't get me wrong we once had a thing; I even thought I was in love with you. All those 27-fling boogie sessions, hot spot fire drills, and zone missions we did together you might ask? Fake, sweetie. All. Fake.
Really, let's be honest. I couldn’t possibly read all the emails you cram in my inbox instructing me of what you want me to do for the day. Every stinkin’ day you ask if I “feel overwhelmed, overextended, and overdrawn?” Yeah I feel overwhelmed! Overwhelmed with you sweetie! Oh and don’t eeeeven get me started on the “think of those emails as sticky notes.” I’d be better off thinking of them as sticky strips cause I aint going anywhere for a long while if I try to read all those sticky strips. I’m tired of you gettin’ in my face telling me all the things that I have to do today, even with your little “you’re not behind–you’re just getting started!” ditty at the end of all your reminders, I feel like you just always wanted more. I’d rather find a bottle of rum than take 15 minutes to start attacking that list of yours.
Don’t get me wrong–you have a lot going for you girl, and you brought a lot to the table. I have enjoyed some parts of our relationship. Your shiny sink 101 was inspiring, I’ve identified those hot spots and I realize it doesn’t take all day to clean if I do it in small chunks. But really, it’s time to say goodbye. No, I haven’t found someone else. Mr. Clean and I well, we’re just friends…acquaintances, really…actually he hasn’t spent much time around here lately.
I wish you the best of luck. Don’t cry, FlyLady. There are plenty of fly babies with empty inboxes who are in desperate need of your wisdom...And your rubba scrubba. You may think it’s just stinkin’ thinkin’, and that I need to really Finally Love Myself a little more, but really, the bottom line is this. You’re smothering me, babe, and I need a little space. AND my inbox! It's over between us.
A fly washed chinobilly
PS. I get showered and dressed every morning and what's wrong with Fannie in the pink sweats? I get a lot of work done in my sweats and I aint wearing shoes in my house no matter what that dirty ole fly says.