Alexa, why are you doing this to me?

I am not here to complain about trivial matters like cardboard boxes. This is simply my way of making a public announcement: Morgan Peterson is finished with us. In my estimation, the guys in the van will be arriving this afternoon to settle things.

Furthermore, I would like to dedicate a song to you—the one we used to listen to while embracing at dawn, out in the meadow soaked in dew during the spring of 1985.
I still hold onto that little secret you tucked away for me...



I wish you luck, light of my eyes. Only now will you truly grasp how good we had it, and exactly what you have thrown away.

You left without even tasting the brisket, I was busy wrangling the kid, and here you are, weeping over your wallpaper like it’s some grand tragedy :D

As far as I recall, we had an agreement—you would watch your tone, and I wouldn't be so quick to pull the trigger on any bans.
So, where does that leave us, darling? Who really messed this up?
Regardless, you’ve been handed a full 24-hour ban.
Terrible, I know, truly devastating—but while you're moping, maybe take a moment to consider if all this drama is actually worth the hassle of loading up the moving van and hauling your life across state lines.

Look, honey, you know better than anyone how many tears I’ve shed over you, but for heaven's sake, you still can't even whip up a decent pot of chili (or so my mother insists).

Fine, let's have it your way one more time. It means I'll be sleeping on the couch again tonight, but whatever. I earned it, I suppose.

And forgive me for airing our dirty laundry like this, but I have to admit, I drank myself into a stupor because for a split second, I actually thought you were seeing someone else. You know exactly how I get when I've had a few too many.