Breaking Up With Your Bong
(A Cautionary Love Story) You swore it was just a casual thing. A little late-night toke here, a lazy afternoon session there. Now it’s whispering your name at 10 a.m., demanding bubble baths and emotional exclusivity.
At first, it was perfect. No judgment, no talking during movies. You gave it cute nicknames. Cleaned it with reverence. Took selfies with it. That was the honeymoon phase.
Then all of a sudden you were spooning your glassware and calling it “baby.” Your friends didn’t visit without texting “Is she gonna be there?” You started defending your bong like it’s your legally wedded spouse. You’ve stopped attending social functions unless “Glassie” can come, too. You’ve prioritized cleaning it over cleaning yourself. You’ve begun hearing it say things like “Don’t go to work … they don’t get you like I do.”
Well, Skippy, perhaps you might be in need of a little distance.
Uncoupling from your bong is never easy. Your bong knows your secrets. It’s seen you cry watching kitten rescue videos; but sometimes love turns toxic, especially if you’re coughing like a Dickensian orphan and your bong has become resinous, funky smelling, and a bit manipulative.
Fortunately there are steps to a clean break. You could simply ghost the mother-fucker. Lock it in a drawer and pretend it’s in bong jail. Or you could give it away, leave it “accidentally” at some dude’s house, preferably someone named Chad who thinks he’s a shaman. Failing that, take up a new hobby: painting, jogging, solitaire, Sudoku, or mumbling to squirrels, Remember your bong is just blown glass. You’re a complex human being with lungs, goals, and a therapist who already suspects too much.
Before you can let go, you have to admit you’ve bonded a little too hard. When you send someone a card, do you sign your bong’s name? Do you find yourself getting jealous when someone else uses it?
For sure your bong was there when you watched Planet Earth and when you accidentally set fire to the shower curtain, but so was your stuffed llama and that haunted-looking cactus on your windowsill. You’re allowed to love objects, but you don’t have to date them. Break free. Take a walk. Breathe air that hasn’t been filtered through a blueberry-scented cloud. You might miss your bong for a while, but eventually, you’ll remember who you were before it started finishing your sentences in smoke signals.
