READER REPORT:

Dear Trade Me, it's time to break up

Your love is fickle and fleeting - this relationship has to end.
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Your love is fickle and fleeting - this relationship has to end.

Dear Trade Me,

This was going to be a love letter, but I've realised this relationship is toxic. You just don't love me like I love you.

Your love is fickle and your promises are kept only until you get a better offer. Trade Me, you trade me in time after time to bob3nz. But bob3nz and his friends don't know you like I do, Trade Me. They don't sit up late at night trying to find the perfect match. They don't select the ideal autobid and fantasise about their new $5 gumboots only to wake up to the cruel reality that jazzedpossum79 has snuck in and stolen the boots forever. Trade Me, you just let this happen.

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Once you let me bid on a fully assembled 14-foot trampoline located across the country. How was I meant to get this trampoline to me? You knew I lived 500 miles from it, Trade Me, and you knew I couldn't resist its chrome finish. You let me out-bid bestmom34 in a late-night brawl involving 25 refreshes a minute and not even a pee break. 

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I annihilated bestmom34 in the last 34 seconds. Poor bestmom34, who clearly lived in the vicinity of said gleaming trampoline and could have given it a better life. But no, I won and then had to spend 25 sleepless nights carousing with dirty truckers to get me my tramp - which now sits atop dog poo, only occasionally entertaining abusive toddlers and dirty canines.  

Trade Me, when things go well my love for you is bountiful. Your trades are tremendous and my heart soars. Sometimes I just gently stroke my $30 dryer late at night and often I lie on my designer couches like Rose perched on that velvet couch as Jack painted her like a French girl.

But then I recall the time you infested the armpits of my only son. Trade Me, we both know timpletim01 seemed like a nice enough bloke - his rating was excellent, so I knew you were into him too. But then along with the toddler bed he gave me was a mattress infested with fifty feral fleas that chomped on my baby with such ferocity that it made several plagues seem like simple gatherings of friendly fireflies.

Our relationship has been far from boring, but aside from my brief Salvation Army fling of 2016 I've been loyal. Now it's time to move on for good. 

So long, old lover of mine. I wish you only good trades and happy reserves.

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Yours tradefully,
jessgallowaynz

 - Stuff Nation

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