Dear Dirt In My Backyard,
I'm sorry, but it's over between us. I tried really hard to make it work. When we met last fall, it was wonderful. We spent every weekend together. Sometimes, I'd come home from work, run upstairs to change clothes and meet you right away. We sat outside and watched sunsets and grilled burgers together.
You had a rough past, Dirt, I understand. Someone didn't treat you right and you needed someone to love you properly. So I cleaned you up, but it was sketchy at first. All that rubbish you were carrying came up to the surface, over and over. At first I thought I could ignore it and consider it part of your charm. So I turned my head at the broken glass, the coffee lids, the cigarette butts, and - strangely - the marbles. But there was more. Partly decomposed children's shoes, slabs of plaster. It got weird. I did my best to clean you up and make a real yard out of you. We even built that patio together, remember? Good times.
By winter, things cooled down a little. We didn't have time to see each other as much, but I knew it wasn't over. We were just waiting until the time was right. A few weeks ago, things started to heat up again. The weekends were clear and warm, so I bought you some flowers. You know, a little romance to start the spring off right.
But then things started to get bad again. Dirt, you know what I'm talking about. Maybe I tried to change you too much. A little tweaking was fine, but I suppose I wanted more from you. I didn't just want a clean, well-groomed yard, I wanted a place for my seedlings to grow. So I started nit-picking again. Spent afternoons with you, teaching you how to be a good yard.
Eventually, you rebeled. And yesterday, I reached my breaking point. A lovely Saturday afternoon with you, ruined, as I was cultivating the side strip, getting you ready for some delicious strawberry plants. You answered me loud and clear:
Yes, Dirt, it's all fun and games until SOMEONE GETS THEIR FINGER SLICED OFF BY AN EXACTO KNIFE. So I get it. You like being the way you are and will revolt against all efforts to change you. I suppose you're right - no one likes to be told they're not good enough. But I've had it, and I deserve better. You get the rest of the week to pack your bags. Actually, why don't I just do it for you.
I'm moving on. I've already met someone else. As soon as I saw Top Soil, I knew the kind of yard I was meant to have. Top Soil is rich. Top Soil looks great and is ready for a real commitment. He'll take care of my baby plants like a real yard.
So that's it, Dirt. Have a nice life.