Dear Rash on the Back of My Neck,
You look suspiciously familiar. And you're starting to itch a little. Please, please, oh, PLEASE do not be what I think you are. I just don't think I can handle looking like a leper this early in my pregnancy. Last time you at least waited until the bitter end.
A Woman Who's Praying GNC Still Sells Grandpa's Pine Tar Soap
Dear NC Weather,
I think there must be some kind of confusion, so I just wanted to clarify something: it's April. Not January. Not February. Not even March. By now, we are supposed to be basking in glorious amounts of sunshine. Let's get with the program.
I have a lot of reasons I'd enjoy some warmer temperatures, but I think the following two sum up my necessity pretty well:
1) All of my maternity clothes, with the exception of a few frumpy disasters, are summer pieces. And I'm tired of wearing pants that cut off my circulation.
2) I am 100 percent a better mom when I can take my child OUTSIDE. Seriously. I'd love to spare him the inevitable future therapy bill, if things in the great outdoors don't perk up pretty soon.
A Frequent Checker of Weather.com
Dear Pregnancy Dreams,
Wow. You're intense. You've all been gems. Especially the ones featuring random people I went to high school with. People I didn't even consider friends during my adolescence have been showing up in my REM cycle. Although, I've got to say, the one about us living in an Iran-occupied United States, while using wheelbarrows full of money to buy groceries was pretty spectacular. Last night's episode, in which I was trying to dry my wedding dress at the laundromat and running out of time before I had to meet Chad at the altar, was particularly terrifying. Good thing I always wake up to pee before things get too out of hand.
One Wishing for a Peaceful Slumber
You make every beverage taste better. It's true, and I love you for it. Since we don't have an ice maker right now, and because we've recently splurged and started buying you in bags from the grocery store, you've been especially chew-able. I'm a woman who loves cold drinks and I don't care who knows it!
Never Going Back to Luke Warm Tap Water
Dear Split Ends,
I know I owe you a haircut. I've been unfair. I've abused you with a blow dryer. I've damaged you further with a flat iron. My curling iron has "kicked your trash," as my roommate Jamie used to say. I'm going to do my best to find someone who can remedy the situation soon.
One Who Remains Loyal to a Stylist Two Hours Away, and is a Bit Terrified to Branch Out
Dear Cadbury Creme Eggs,
I never even liked you, until I tried one of you that my husband had stashed in the freezer. It was a moment of desperation. I needed chocolate and you met that need. It was love at first taste. It also further proved that my husband's strange obsession with freezing things that aren't meant to be frozen is usually right on the money. (With the exception being Oreos . . . I hate it when that man hides my Oreos in the freezer.) I apologize for my hasty judgement in the past. I hope my new found love will heal any wounds you may have suffered.
The One Who's Been Hoarding Her Son's Easter Candy
Dear Refrigerator Still Leaking in My Garage,
Wow. We bought this house in July. Not to state the obvious, but you are still there. Leaking. In the garage. Either freezing foods that are meant to be merely refrigerated, or soaking them in pools of water. There's something really uncool about that, no pun intended.
The Woman Who Knows She Should Be Grateful You Work at All, but is Kind of Really Sick of You
Today, when you comforted your friend Mark's little sister, Mia, with a toy helicopter, I had a renewed hope that you are going to make the best big brother ever. Let's put aside all those earlier comments you've made about leaving your brother to live at the airport.