Seven-Eleven Slurpees

Dear Seven-Eleven Slurpee,

What gives? I thought we were going to make a go of it. I really did. I thought you did, too. You know how everyone has had to tighten their belts these days, and you know I really don't need to be eating more sugar. But I had said "Shut it" to my dentist and even worse things to the nutritionists who were riding my back. Because we were serious.

I was always going to have room for your Pepsi-goodness. Even though this entire summer, you've hardly been anything but touch and go. I never know how I'm going to find you. At your best, you're smooth and cool and perfect, and spending my time with you just refreshes me for the rest of the day. I still remember those times, but I can't remember when we last had one. This runny shit doesn't do it for me. Even though I went through your complaint channels, as if I were just another buyer, no one special to you, this whole week you've been off. I get all ready, go on over to find you, and you're not even thinking about getting yourself together. You're not even a slush! I feel like there must be someone else, and they're taking you away from me. Do they always pick the right color straw for you, the pink ones, which compliment your beautiful white-flecked brown ideal so well? Because I always did! It was important to me! You were always important to me! But right now, maybe I shouldn't have bothered. I'm starting to think there's no more hope for us. So see if I don't just get a weird yellow one that doesn't even have a spoon in the bottom. See what happens then.

You're never there for me anymore. You are always dripping wet and unresponsive. And not in a good way. It's not like I show up naked for you!

You could at least turn on your "Not Currently Available" light if you're going to be this cheap towards me.

Baby, come back,
Noren