i heartily dislike you. i think you should go away, leave me alone, and only come when i'm feeling rich that day. not poor. like today. because now i feel (and kinda am, actually) destitute, and i still haven't had that steak from texas roadhouse.
i understand your purpose, but i don't love you --
dear uterus (or womb, if that makes you more comfortable),
i appreciate your function. kind of like a conjunction (sing that school house rock, everyone! sing it!!!). just kidding. i know you don't join up other words. but although i appreciate your purpose, i would appreciate it more if you would stop SQUEEZING me. because braxston hicks are the worst. and yes, i love to complain. i love it. just ask the people who have to live with me.
dearest spring break,
i love you, because you let me keep my son allll dayyyyy longggg. and i love that. so thank you.
dearest friend ben,
i love you. and i'll read this to you, 'cause i know you won't read it. and darn it, you should know how i feel!
dear f.c. and cousins,
i love you, too. just different. thank heavens.
dear ann landers,
i have always ALWAYS wanted to write a letter to you to ask for your advice, because when i read the other letters you got while i was growing up, they were just so darn juicy. amazingly juicy. and i wanted some of the juice. but now i'm an alleged grown-up, and i don't want to ask your advice if my juice is going to be public, you know? i think i need to think of some juice first, though. this is a happily unjuicy portion of my life (insert sigh of relief here).
what's going on with the nudist thing? please let me know when you've analyzed it.
dearest academy awards,
you know i look forward to you all year long. and you were boring. but you did give me a good excuse to visit with my parents for 4 long hours and you did give me the chance to have that delicious lime water thing as only my dad can make. so i thank you. you KNOW i'll be watching next year, too. and i've got my speech prepared, should i ever need to use it.