Wednesday, July 09, 2014

Postal Love for the Month of July

Dear Leather Recliner,

I previously expressed loving sentiment for you here.  While I was obviously twitterpated at the time, the adoration was fleeting.

Fast forward four years, find me no longer pregnant, and suddenly you become far less charming.

Do you know what a swiveling, rocking, and reclining chair does to a mother of small children? It nauseates her.  That's what.  There were days when I thought I might end up in the loony bin before 35 if I had to watch Kaden twirl in you at top speeds one more time, while trying to prevent him from injuring himself or others.  Then Everett discovered how fun it was to spin you, and something had to be done.

We sold you on the 4th of July to a buyer off Craigslist.

There was a moment on the evening of July 3rd, when I wondered if I was making a mistake.  All those comfy pregnancy snoozes did mean something to me.  They really did.

Then, on Independence Day, when your new owner came to collect you, I pointed out the small tear in your upholstery, and she said she didn't care.  Because she has cats.  In the plural.  And I felt guilty committing you to such a fate.  I still kind of do.

But you were so unbelievably ugly.

We'll Always Have the Summer Months of 2010 and 2013

Dear Whoever's Behind the Advertising Campaign for Blue Bell Ice Cream,

Cruel.  That's what you are.

You can't run an ad for Magic Cookie Bar flavored ice cream, then boast about it's delicious flavor combination online, only to not have it at TWO grocery stores.

"Just in time for National Ice Cream Month!" you said.  "In July!" you said.  I didn't even KNOW it was National Ice Cream Month, but I sure wanted to celebrate tonight with a bowl full of "sweet ice cream loaded with graham cracker crust pieces, chunks of dark chocolate, roasted pecan pieces and toasted coconut, all surrounded by a caramel sauce swirl."  Instead, I'm stuck with chocolate chip cookie dough.

What gives?

Disappointed Doesn't Cut It

Dear Husband,

Thank you for driving to not one, but TWO grocery stores at 9:30 at night in search of Magic Cookie Bar ice cream.

I love you.

The Wifey

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