Amateur Letters

Dear Ankles,

I miss you. Tell those sausage toes to get lost - I'm tired of having caveman feet. Additionally, why are my calves a canvas for imprinting whatever they happen to rest upon? Can you check on that for me? I really appreciate it and hope to see you soon.

Dear Busch Gardens,

Did you know the only ride a pregnant woman can go on is the carousel? I do. You have this sign everywhere. Does this mean I'm not in good health or cannot use the seat properly? I suppose I should thank you for looking out for my safety and ensuring a day of people-watching.

Dear Patrick Henry Mall,

Thanks for love, it made my day. Whilst entering a row of parking, my husband lamented our lack of luck in finding a spot. At first we thought it was a to-go area, but to our pleasant surprise we could pull right in! You almost make up for your distant cousin, Busch Gardens. Perhaps you can lend him some tips for how to treat those great with child?



Yep, still holding that belly. I think it is a chronic disease.


Dear Allergy-Induced Sinuses,

What did I ever do to you? I'm pretty sure you're the spawn of Satan. Did you know that I can't take any medication with a "d" suffix? What's that? Sorry, my ears are plugged and my head is stuffed, and I couldn't stop hacking up a lung long enough to hear you. Take this as your final eviction notice.

*I'll spare you a picture relating to this. Just imagine a lot of tissues and cough drop wrappers strewn about aimlessly*