Dear Olive Paste, you're sitting for days now in the fridge and I never pick you up. You may have wondered why, what is it with this attitude, when we were so close when I brought you home.
You have been dishonest with me. You know how much I like green olives and you wrote that in big letters to seduce me. But nowhere did you say you flirted with sweet paprika (not so sweet if you ask me).
Why would you do that, you know I would have loved you just the way you were... Ok, ok, so you wrote it somewhere in tiny letters, I am not saying it's all your fault, but I didn't read the fine print because I trusted you. Now I don't want to be rude, but it doesn't fit you AT ALL. I don't know what to say, you've dissapointed me.
True, the first thing I liked about you was your friendly little jar and that I'll keep. But I expected more from you. Now what am I going to do with you? You know as well as I do that NO ONE will touch you considering, you know, your... thing. And I wouldn't have brought this up if you wouldn't stare at me each and every single time that I opened the fridge. I am sorry. I can't. Not like this.