This is a tough letter to write. We have been through so much. For 18 months, you have lived at my side, sort of. I have treated you like my own. But the time comes when a gal has to know when to cut her losses and call it a day. I think you and I are there.
I suppose I could take some responsibility for the demise of our relationship. I stood when I was supposed to be laying, did a little lifting on the side, and watched HGTV when I sensed you were more of an MTV implant. But Right Implant, you should know that you are really quite needy.
When you fell from your perch, so to speak, I bumped you back up. When you exposed yourself to the outside air, we covered you. Twice. When you decided to start internally bleeding on my San Diego vacation, we made you our first priority. When you broke out in hives, I ate Bendaryl like candy even though it made me walk into things. And last but not least, when you decided my own skin was not adequate for your needs, we offered you the skin of a perfectly lovely cadaver.
Now, really, Right Implant, I think I have done my fair share to make you comfortable. (I hate to compare, but Left Implant didn’t need a Welcome Wagon basket to feel at home.) And now, after 18 months, you decide to thank me with an infection. A raging bacteria infestation that is causing your home’s temperature to rise and ache, and frankly, makes you look ugly and distorted. It’s not a good look, my friend.
Well, you’ve cut off your nose to spite your face. This is it. Adios Right Implant, I have had enough. You just can’t make some implants happy.