Hey bud, it’s me—the unused Total Gym you bought at the beginning of quarantine. I’m rusting in your garage. Another month’s gone by and I’m gettin’ really grimy. I understand exercise takes a bit of motivation. But come on. How much sweat does it take for one clean swipe with a dust rag? That’s just disrespectful.
I still remember our first weekend together, what, six or seven months ago. You were so excited. So hopeful. This lockdown was going to be exactly the push you needed to get back into shape and I was going to be your partner. You got home and immediately bestowed me in your office. Stationed directly next to your computer—a constant encouragement for mid-day workout breaks.
10 days later you began to change, our relationship began to change. I found myself in the garage.
At first, I understood. The excuses were totally legit or at least believable. They were scary, uncertain times, physical fitness wasn’t a top priority. Working from home was an adjustment. It’s hard not to watch Snapped all day when you’re home and can watch Snapped all day. But that was six months ago. The uncertainly has become ordinary and working from home has become routine. Unfortunately, so have your faulty explanations to avoid me. Besides, you’re still not a mixologist and you’re never starting that novel.
You realize I wasn’t a cheap date? Remember, you forked over $700 to spend quality time with me. Half the world is struggling to make ends meet and you essentially lit a month’s rent on fire. Actually, you just tossed that money in the garage to rot. Just me and the beanie babies.
So now I sit alone. Devoid of purpose or function—a discarded apparatus, unwanted and unloved, left to ponder a hollow existence.
I want to be wanted. But relationships take effort and, in my case, a little sweat. I’m willing to try again. But I need you to want you to try again—even if we go slow at first. Come on, give us a try. I can show you I’m more than a glorified clothes rack.