Dear Michelle Obama:
I have a confession to make. I’ve been cheating on you with a new girl-crush. Don’t get me wrong—I still love your belted cardigans and told my wellness coach at the Y I wanted to do whatever exercise gave me your arms and shoulders. You continue to be awesome; it’s not you, it’s me.
But you’ve seen Kate Middleton, right? Her hair is so shiny and she does her own makeup and that dress and that trench. Plus she’s going to be a princess and has an English accent. She’ll have the same anniversary date as me, which in my mind means we’ll be BFFs and giggle over scones and gossip about Posh Spice.
Sorry, Michelle. I still love you and hope we can stay friends.
Dear The Walking Dead:
We heard lots of good things about you, so we downloaded your first season. We’ve watched four or so episodes and I’m enjoying you so far. But ugh, do you have to be soooooo gross? I don’t have to see it every single time someone shoots a zombie in the head. I get the idea.
Disgusted but still a fan,
Dear Mother Nature:
Listen up, lady. Don’t make it warm enough to get out my Birkenstocks, and then have it be forty degrees the next day. I’m through with your shenanigans. You’ve seen the calendar. It’s spring now so ACT LIKE IT.
Today is the very last day I’ll ever have three-year-olds. How are you suddenly such big kids? I love seeing you grow and change and learn. It’s an amazing process and I’m blessed to witness it first-hand. You both are perfect the way you are, but if you want to grow up just a liiiiiiiiiittle bit slower, that would be great. Thanks.