My dear, dear Bio Bag,
I wanted to love you. Oh, how I reveled in the thought that you and I would be eco-licious together. We’d go on to save the world. I’d tell two friends, and they’d tell two friends, and so on …
I would stuff you full of kitchen trash. You would hold strong for me, and eventually return to the earth. Upon my cremation, we would wind up together once more.
But alas, we are not to be. It’s not for the reasons you think, either. Did I wince at paying $7 for you at the hardware store? Yes, but I convinced myself that I was doing the right thing. For you. For us. For my children (arrival dates TBD), and their children.
Around the same time you arrived, I also noticed some tiny, tiny bugs flying around my kitchen. I wrote that off to seasonality. I kept the counters cleaner than a Calabasas housewife’s, all sparkling for the impending arrival of her maid. I put the bowls of ripe fruit in the fridge. And still, the bugs!
Tonight, dear Bio Bag, was the end for me. The dealbreaker. The turd in the punchbowl. Tonight, as I went to empty you, you broke free from the refuse I trusted you to hold dear.
Suspect leftover macaroni salad.
Lettuce too brown to serve.
Tri-tip to tired to reheat.
All in an unholy stew.
I am normally a very forgiving person, Bio Bag. But I’m over the edge.
And it’s not like I have anything against you. In fact, it’s not you, it’s me. It’s just that I feel I need more than you can give me. You know, maybe you should hook up with someone who has a cat and just needs something to line a litterbox. Or a scrapbooking Minnesota teen to hold the things unfileable. Or perhaps, I know, get to know the people who stage homes, so they look eco-friendly right down to the rubbish bin. Also, I think you’d find plenty of admirers in San Francisco and other places that have banned plastic shopping bags.
You’re wondering if I will go back to Hefty, or to Glad, or to the generic 99-Cent Store bags of yore. I don’t know. I don’t know if we can even be friends. Will you just let me think for a second?
I need to figure it out — and I have plenty of time, because there’s half a roll of you left.