Ah, ma chere, mi amor, my darling Handbag, I don't have to tell you what you already know, do I? You know things are different between us, and you know it's not you.
We're emotional distancing, preparing for the divide, yes? You know I'm leaving you. You're a smart girl. You've seen this coming since early March.
Tomorrow I start my internship with America's Test Kitchen. You know I'm worried and stressed. You know I'm wondering why the hell I'm leaving my write-in-my-PJ's gig. And you know I feel too damn old to work an unpaid internship.
But you also know that I need the print and food writing experience. You know it's the right thing, even if I don't. You know because I've stocked your archives with pictures of food, stories about food, agonizingly long odes about my culinary conquests. You've known from the beginning, from Table for One, you little mynx of a blog, you.
And you also know this new endeavor of mine is only part-time, so the rest of my week will be spent cramming in my usual work. Which, sadly, leaves less time for blogging for pleasure.
But oh, dear sweet Handbag, stop worrying. Yes, your archives for the spring will look a little sparse. But I'll still be here. Even if it's just to slap up some pictures and beg forgiveness for my absence.
Me and you, Handbag, to the end.
You're my best gal. I won't abandon you.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to cook up some courage before my big day tomorrow.
I know you'll understand.