Dear boy who works at the Chinese restaurant {yeah you—the one who not only grabbed my butt twice while picking up my chicken fried rice, stalked me at my place of employment, and continued to call my cell phone from a blocked number}, I will call the cops on you. Again. Just to scare the living daylights out of you and watch you run like you are trying to qualify for the 2012 Olympics.
Dear hot dog, I ate you. And you were dang good. That’s really all.
Dear Strapless Bras, I hate you. You wouldn’t be so bad if you actually stayed up North. But no, just like all of the old people who live in Indiana, you head South when you want a break from reality. My girls don’t appreciate your “breaks” every 2 seconds. On the bright side your annoying habits make for glamourous portraits of myself…
Dear Sleep Number Stores, you have no idea how badly I want to just come and hang out at one of you sometime. Preferably for a few hours. Minimum. You supply the bed, I’ll supply the body.
Dear Grandpa, my dearest apologies for being dressed in a nikibiki tank, no bra, and the shortest shorts known to mankind the other night when you showed up unexpectedly. While my neighbors are used to me in this attire, you are not. Again. My apologies.
Dear Hallmark, you’ve got nothin’ on me.
Dear Miss Chic, I might be addicted. But I think we already knew that.
Dear Margarita In My Stomach, you were oh so good while you lasted in your bigger than my head glasses.
Dear Taylor & Dana, I can’t believe I am actually going to MEET you IN PERSON in a few short weeks. Expect a minimum of at least 39 questions to come your way. And probably a hug or two. I’m kinda the Queen of that. Unless I take too many shots out of nervousness. In which case expect to find me in the corner of the roof top bar sound asleep.
Dear Giuliana & Bill’s Baby, I want to buy you a present and deliver it to the restaurant that your parents own. But my husband thinks that would be insanely weird. I don’t get it either.
I think it’s just the beginning stages of his jealousy coming out over the relationship you and I will have. I love you baby Rancic.
Dear Bathroom Mirror, without you I would not be able to take multiple outfit shots in one day to post to Instagram {follow me @livinginyellow. Or else.}
Dear Channing Tatum, sorry I’m not sorry that I’ll be drooling over your existence Saturday night while watching Magic Mike. I could go on. But I won’t. I love you Shawn.
Dear Blogs, thank God for your existence. I can’t imagine how productive lame my life would be without you.
Dear Readers, leave one of your own “dear ____” in the comments. It’ll be fun. Whoever comes up with the best one will get announced on my blog. Yes, I just made this a competition. #itson.
