I think we need to break up.
Yes, I realize that our relationship has been long, and deep, and no truer romance has existed (except possibly between John Candy and fried nuggets of delight) but everything must come to an end and this, dear Food, is ours.
As I sat here, drool slowly escaping the side of my mouth because I was too lazy to reach up and wipe it away, it occurred to me that we have been growing apart for some time. Sure, we had the occasional mad fling, turkey and pie dancing around in a culmination of gustatational proportions rarely seen outside of specialty internet videos. Yes, I realize that over the last few weeks you may have even thought our relationship might be strengthening, as I stopped portioning my meals and indulged my every whim when it came to exploring the depths of culinary fantasies; I now realize, however, that this was a mistake.
Oh, you're not to blame, food; it's not you, it's me. Really.
The thing is, we've been together too long. I've grown too dependent on you, and without a promise of deeper commitment there's really nowhere for this relationship to go. Also, I've kinda been seeing someone on the side; her name's Exercise, and while things have been rocky to start with, I think we really have something, and I think I'm more interested in pursuing that relationship than this one.
In short, Food, I'm dumping you. Don't worry, though, we can still be friends.
I'll love you forever,
P.S. That thing we did the other day, with the candied yams? That was stupendous.