Twenty years ago you were my hero. You were the first friend to get married and buy a home. You hosted Christmas like Martha freakin' Stuart, and I was there. I was single and hungover, but I was there. Flash forward to your first born. I'm still hungover, and still there on Christmas because Yes Virginia, I was still single. Your kid was cute and I liked coming over to watch Friends with you, while hubby was out playing darts. I liked watching you be married, and loved telling you about my happy hour adventures. Your blush at my makeout sessions with strangers was just too adorable.

Three kids later for you, I finally meet my lobster and get married. Never thought I would get the

"You coming over?" text on our first married Christmas. Did you forget that we have new life together and new traditions too? The first year I felt bad, but with a nagging feeling. Something wasn't right, but i couldn't figure out what it was. The year you moved and begged us to come see the new house was the beginning of the end for me. Your house was gorgeous and I was happy for you all, but you know what was not happy? ME. Your house was not going anywhere, but your daughter had a stomach virus the day we were coming to visit, and you were too selfish to cancel. I remember a lovely house and a sick kid carrying a bucket for the tour. That was over ten years ago, but it's when I knew I had to break up with you.

We text and chat via social media, but only when it is convenient for you. Looking back, its always been that way, but when it worked for you it was working for me too. I take responsibility for the break up. Actually, I'm a coward because you don't even know we are broken up.

You know those miserable stereotype sitcom couples on television? That's what happened to me and I just couldn't take the person you had become. Nagging manipulative wife always getting sick or injured while husband is away. Catty sister in law criticizing the way other people choose to raise their kids. Really? You were appalled that someone would "let" their child sit around in a onesie in their own crib. Who has this much time to care about such things?

Anyway, this started in 1987 and hasn't officially ended yet, but the fact that you are still guilting me into trying to come over for Christmas means its coming. Goodbye Old Friend, I haven't even missed you.