Oh, George.

Dear George,

I am writing you this letter to tell you that it’s over between us.

I know that you will be shocked – after all, at the start, we were perfect together. A more perfect couple has never existed, of this I am sure. I rang you, the day my car was stolen. I was confused and stunned, and you were my calm white knight.

Oh, George, how I want to go back to that first day. You whispered sweet nothings in my ear, told me that the insurance claim would be “a piece of cake”, that you’d make it so easy for me. You told me that everything would be okay, George, and I believed you. It would take no time at all, according to you, and I wouldn't have to do anything.

It’s hard to tell when I began to doubt you, George. I’m not sure when exactly, but I soon realised that I was always calling you. You never sent me flowers, you never seemed interested in me. And that's not what a girl wants, George.

Now, I know you're a busy man, George. I respect that. You're busy, and I know that you're not just my claims man, you belong to many others as well. I respect that, and totally understand that. We were never going to be exclusive, you and I.

But to have one phonecall from you in three weeks, to slowly become disillusioned with you, while I dealt with most things on my own ... Well, it quickly became clear to me that you weren't the claims man for me.

So, George, it's over. I'll have my cheque thanks, and then we'll part ways, never to see each other again. Unless you start working for my new insurance company, that is, and I'm unlucky enough to have another car stolen. Thanks for the no help that you gave me, the updates I was promised but never received, and the utter lack of helpfullness you displayed on many occassions. While it was fun, it's an experience I never hope to repeat.

Best of luck George, may you find some new chick willing to believe the garbage you talk.

Signed,

Bitter and Was-carless-but-now-not,-no-thanks-to-you-George.