A Break-Up Letter From Your Bag For Life

Maybe I’ll help someone move house. Maybe I’ll become a house for a family of raccoons.

This is adieu, Andreas. I’m going to a better place. Maybe the mountains. Maybe Cactus.

Dear Andreas,

How have you been? You looked tired last time I saw you, which was this morning, when you fetched your coat from my home, which is the cupboard in the hallway. I guess you were running late for the tram again, and that’s why you didn’t see me. 

Also, because I’m wedged in the corner with all of the others. Although I’m hard to miss, being the bag that holds all of the other Bags For Life. The others call me The Mother of all Bags. It’s meant respectfully, I’m sure. Although the other day one of them called me a Boomer. Wow, that burned!  They mellowed out when they realised they’d been replaced with a tote bag with “Rizz” written on the side. What does that even mean?

I’m writing because I’ve been thinking. We had some good times. Remember when you first moved to Luxembourg? You’d carry me with you to work in your backpack so that you could stop by Auchan on your way home. I miss being in that backpack, smooshed up against your laptop, your pencil case and your gym shoes. Happy days!

You only ever bought enough groceries to fit in one bag because I was enough. Life was easier then. Also you didn’t know how to cook so it was just microwave meals, frozen pizzas and warm, pre-roasted chickens. I practically carried you through your first years in Luxembourg!

But then you started branching out to impress who, I don’t know. Buying Edamame, foie gras and that jar of kimchi that leaked inside me! Eurgh! Sometimes I wonder if it was the stink of kimchi that made you stop using me. But by then, you’d already begun your collection, grabbing at other Bags For Life and filling them up with overpriced goods which, incidentally also got forgotten in a dark cupboard. 

For a while you still took me shopping but you no longer carried me around in your backpack. I won’t lie, it stung. I didn’t say anything because I knew that you were working so hard to get that promotion. I thought that once you got promoted to manager things would go back to the way they were before. But that’s when she moved in and you started getting home delivery. Fortunately, that little adventure didn’t last, and nor did the home delivery. 

Your girlfriend wasn’t all bad. She actually removed the old receipts and shopping lists and wiped away the stains in my bottom. Not that you noticed. Because you never used me again!!

The times I have waited for the crack of light to appear in the door and for you to wrap your big hands around my love handles only to be ignored for a younger, more recent acquisition. I miss you, Andreas. What are your feelings for me? I’m sure you haven’t forgotten me. Otherwise, why would I still be here? 

Which brings me to why I am writing to you. The other day one of your latest carriers, a stringy affair, told me she’d seen a Bag For Life being used as a kind of plant pot on a balcony. It got me thinking, I am a Bag For Life. A bag for living. Not for dying in a dark cupboard in a studio apartment! I may be an old bag but I’ve got dreams. Maybe I’ll travel. Maybe I’ll help someone move house. Maybe I’ll become a house for a family of raccoons.

I have so much unexplored potential. And as much as I am attached to you, I need to live my best bag life. So, I’m leaving you. You’ll handle it fine. You’ve got plenty of bags to see you through and I’ve no doubt there will be others in your future. As for me, this is adieu, Andreas. I’m going to a better place. Maybe the mountains. Maybe Cactus. I’m not sure yet. Please don’t try to stop me. I’ve made up my mind. But if you do happen to see me around, do say ‘hi’. After all, I was your first and you mine.

Yours faithfully,

The mother of all bags