Dearest Rogers Canada,
I know it's hard, and nobody ever wants to go though this. You hope and pray that it won't happen to you, you do the best you can on a daily basis, and still, sometimes, it just doesn't work out. But you have to accept it, Rogers.
I just don't want to be with you anymore.
I admit that it was pure romance at first. You went out of your way to keep me happy, you picked up the tab once in a while and, when I called in sheer panic because Space now played Doctor Who instead of CBC, you made sure I could access it, at no extra charge. It was sweet, Rogers. You were my knight on a white (and red) horse.
But, well, people change. I changed. I just... I can't be like you, always viewing the same channels, slaves to a pre-determined play time. I just needed to be free, Rogers, to select what I wanted to see when it was best for me, and not dance to the strings of someone else's mandolin.
You were happy with the way things were, I guess. You never offered me otherwise, even when I asked. It wasn't easy for me either, Rogers, to break it off with you.
We've had good times. And I know I'm a catch - always paying on time or twice in one month, for lack of attention. Making jokes whenever we chatted on the phone. Not downloading more than you were willing to give.
But you have to let go. The phone calls, letters, e-mails and texts are just embarrassing you, Rogers, and cheapening what we once had. You've become the stain in my mailbox and the joke at my dinner table. And then you dared send me another letter, simply adressed to "Resident."
...
Think about how that made me feel.
I tried to be nice about it, but I can't anymore. Your constant initiation of contact is wasteful and perhaps scarring. Please stop corresponding with me.
We had a good run, Rogers. But now it's time for you to let go.
Love (in a limited, non-eternal way),
Marie
I know it's hard, and nobody ever wants to go though this. You hope and pray that it won't happen to you, you do the best you can on a daily basis, and still, sometimes, it just doesn't work out. But you have to accept it, Rogers.
I just don't want to be with you anymore.
I admit that it was pure romance at first. You went out of your way to keep me happy, you picked up the tab once in a while and, when I called in sheer panic because Space now played Doctor Who instead of CBC, you made sure I could access it, at no extra charge. It was sweet, Rogers. You were my knight on a white (and red) horse.
But, well, people change. I changed. I just... I can't be like you, always viewing the same channels, slaves to a pre-determined play time. I just needed to be free, Rogers, to select what I wanted to see when it was best for me, and not dance to the strings of someone else's mandolin.
You were happy with the way things were, I guess. You never offered me otherwise, even when I asked. It wasn't easy for me either, Rogers, to break it off with you.
We've had good times. And I know I'm a catch - always paying on time or twice in one month, for lack of attention. Making jokes whenever we chatted on the phone. Not downloading more than you were willing to give.
But you have to let go. The phone calls, letters, e-mails and texts are just embarrassing you, Rogers, and cheapening what we once had. You've become the stain in my mailbox and the joke at my dinner table. And then you dared send me another letter, simply adressed to "Resident."
...
Think about how that made me feel.
I tried to be nice about it, but I can't anymore. Your constant initiation of contact is wasteful and perhaps scarring. Please stop corresponding with me.
We had a good run, Rogers. But now it's time for you to let go.
Love (in a limited, non-eternal way),
Marie
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