Once upon a time, about eight and a half years ago, there was a girl and a boy. They met, as girls and boys often do. They went on a few dates. They made each other laugh. They had interests in common (although the relative merits of the musical as an art form and the correct ambient temperature for the living room would be constant sources of disagreement).
And after (quite a short) while, they moved in together.
And a few years later, they got engaged.
And a few years after that, they got married.
And a year (almost to the day) after that, the boy told the girl that he wanted to separate for a time to think about whether he wished to continue to be in the relationship.
And the girl cried (quite a lot) and drank gin (quite a lot) and at first thought evil thoughts about the boy but then remembered some nice things about him and cried a bit more.
And the girl reluctantly admitted to herself that sometimes, however much you love someone and however much you have built your life around them and however much you think the day is brighter because they are in it, sometimes relationships fall apart despite everything and that it isn't a question of blame or guilt, just very, very sad. And she was grateful that they loved each other enough to think that their relationship might be worth a trial
separation period and might still be worth saving.
And the girl, who wrote a blog that was sometimes about dieting and sometimes about food and sometimes just about life in general, decided to put up a post explaining why things might be a bit unsettled for a while and why meal planning might consist of a lot of prick and pings* for one for the time being while she got used to the idea of cooking for herself.
*Although then she remembered that she didn't have a microwave anymore so would have to go for ones that baked in the oven until she got around to replacing it.
The end. For now.
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