I’m The Box Of Wires You’ve Had For Five Years And You Forgot Our Anniversary

This is how you treat me?

Britt Migs
Jun 6 · 4 min read
“Day 218 — Box of wires” by TiggerT is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Hello, Greg. Remember me? I’m the box of wires that stuck by your side for five years and three moves. For five years I’ve provided you with a loving home for your USB plugs, cables with no clear purpose, a 1998 Nintendo 64 controller that somehow got in here… and this is how you treat me?

How could you forget this date, the day we met five years ago? I’ll certainly never forget. You were at your parents’ house on Long Island and your mom was cleaning me out. She used to fill me with baked goods she brought to the office. She said, “Here, take this for the new apartment, you might need it for something.” It was then that you shrugged your shoulders and threw a Belkin surge protector inside of me. It was fate. I was empty when I met you and you gave me a new purpose. But that time was fleeting. I used to carry the aroma of your mom’s double fudge peanut butter brownies. You know what I smell like now? Obsolescence and neglect. I can’t believe you’ve seemingly wiped this day from your memory. Maybe you need a memory card reader? I have one of those, as you well know.

You’ve had me in three different apartments, always in the same spot — the little cabinet in the TV console, right next to your Monk DVD collection. Close enough to the action but far enough away that I’m out of sight, out of mind. I can understand not getting me a card (no, I don’t count the glitchy SD card you flung in here yesterday) but you couldn’t even be bothered to open up the cabinet door to say hello? Like those 8 seasons of Monk, I’ve become an untouched antique. By the way, Adrian would strongly disapprove of the careless manner in which I have been treated.

I guess I should have seen this coming. AC power, RCA, coaxial — we used to hook up all the time, but the passion has been steadily fading. Dammit, Greg, we had a real connection! In the early days, you would open me up to contribute all sorts of random wires — one that connected to your digital camera, another that came with the karaoke machine you bought for Steve’s birthday. Remember that party? I sure came in handy when you needed an extra phone charger for guests. On movie nights you used to always check to see if I had an HDMI cord inside of me. I almost never did but you would check just to make sure, as if you had to do your due diligence. I loved those days. But you started checking me less and less. As you stuffed me with more obscure wires and they became more and more tangled, I suppose I became less useful, less attractive.

If you were going to be this cruel, why bother keeping me this long? Why string me along for all of these moves? I was put in the “keep pile” time and time again. I was packed up like the nice plates you got from your Aunt Shelly and placed in a moving truck, and for what? To be cast aside like a packet of SILICA GEL THROW AWAY DO NOT EAT? And don’t think I haven’t noticed you shoving other undesirables inside me. I don’t know what you should do with that instructional pamphlet that came with your space heater either but that doesn’t mean it belongs in me. I may just be a plastic Sterilite container from Target, Greg, but I have feelings.

But you know what? This forgotten anniversary is the final fray in the wire. Monk Season 3 and I have been getting close and this has just proven to me that I should give that new relationship a chance to flourish. I’m done sitting around waiting for you to need my contents until it’s convenient for you. We’re through, Greg. And when your next girlfriend needs a USB-C for her Samsung Galaxy S10? Well, oops, I must have somehow misplaced that.

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Slackjaw

Medium humor. Large laughs.

Britt Migs

Written by

Britt is a comedian, writer, & producer living and working in NYC. You can see her performing online for the foreseeable future. @brittymigs on all socials

Slackjaw

Slackjaw

Medium humor. Large laughs.

Britt Migs

Written by

Britt is a comedian, writer, & producer living and working in NYC. You can see her performing online for the foreseeable future. @brittymigs on all socials

Slackjaw

Slackjaw

Medium humor. Large laughs.

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