Are you with me here? Good.
But then. After a while, a string mop begins to fall apart. It looks depressed and bits fall off. The strings thin. But you hang on, week after week, because once you buy a new mop you have to break it in all over again! So there you are, thinking "goodbye, old mop" and singing "Oooooh Danny Booooy", three-stepping through the dry patches and picking up bits of string as you go. Dragging out those last moments, because parting is such sweet sorrow. And thinking, "There must be a metaphor in this, somewhere".
But damned if I can find it.