Dear Triceratops,

[photo courtesy TimSpfd]

Dear Triceratops,

You are the best dinosaur. Why aren't you alive today? Then I could have you as a pet and ride you home. You could probably even swim across the East River. I know my apartment is rather small, but I think we could make it work.

Someday...someday.
Anna

Dear Barbeque Place Near My House,

Dear Barbeque Place Near My House,

I can't help it. I put myself on a veggie diet, cut back on drinking, and even started doing pilates in my living room to prepare myself for swimsuit shopping. But there's something about you that keeps me coming back.

Is it the picnic tables outside, where I can both drink my fill of beer AND smoke as many cigarettes as I like? Or is it your pork belly and ribs, served sans plates on butcher-paper lined trays like some demented, meat-centric high school cafeteria? Is it the token basket of handi-wipes by the register? The gramophone lighting fixtures? The epic, Hannibal Lecteresque mess I have on my face when I've had my fill of porcine carnage?

It's all of these things and more, Fette Sau. Through swine flu and swimsuit season, I'll stay with you...always.

Yours in Pork Fat,
Stephanie

Dear Vintage Warehouse One Block From My Apartment,

[photo courtesy technology & the work bathroom]

Dear Vintage Warehouse One Block From My Apartment,

Every week, I tell myself I'm never going back to you. You're just too tempting, and if I go inside, it's almost certain I'll buy something I don't really need. "But where else will you find a sequined jumpsuit?" I'll ask myself. "How can you survive without a square dance dress?" And when almost everything is $10, you make it so easy to go crazy.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not blaming you. I'm just saying our relationship has become a little less like a friendship and a little more like an addiction. I would say we should take a break, but let's be honest. I can never get enough of you.

At least you're not heroin,
Anna

note: this is a picture of me, so there's really no reason to black-bar the eyes...I just find it amusing.

Dear Mossimo Supply Company Cheetah Print Flats,

[photo from target.com]

Dear Mossimo Supply Company Cheetah Print Flats,

I know you only cost $12.99 at the sorry excuse for a Target by the Atlantic-Pacific stop. I'm pretty sure I only bought you in a Target-induced haze after having been deprived of big box shopping for so long. And I am certain you were made by, like, a baby in a terrible factory in the developing world. But none of this means that you have to start crapping out on me after being worn only 5 times. You're so cute! Please, just hang in there. You can make it.

Also, what is the deal with this Mossimo "Supply Company" stuff? Last I heard, it was just Mossimo. And that was good enough for me.

Agree to disagree,
Anna

Dear Stoli,

[photo by timeSucker]

Dear Stoli,

I think it's time you and I took a break.

I love you but I love myself more.

Please don't write back this time.

Your old friend,
Kat

Dear Josh Lyman,

(via)

Dear Josh Lyman,

I wish you were real.

Dear Donna Moss,

I wish I was you.


love,
(in the least creepy way you can love a fictional character and be completely envious of another fictional character),
brandy

Dear Peter DeWolf,

[photo courtesy Tambako the Jaguar]

This post is part of the ever-so-eloquently named People Who Should Date Us Mondays.

Dear Peter DeWolf,

You're a great writer. That's the first thing. And your posts are alternately hilarious, touching, and sexy - my three favorite things for writing to be. Also, you are tall, which means I can keep wearing my 3" heels without feeling like a giant, and you are Canadian, which means dual citizenship for everyone if we get married.

Just think about it.
Anna

Dear Maternity Clothing Boutique Next to My Apartment Building,

[photo courtesy shutter_daddy]

Dear Maternity Clothing Boutique Next to My Apartment Building,

Why do you tease me? Your windows are always filled with the most adorable and comfortable-looking clothing. Your selection is far superior to your sister boutique down the street, which features too many skinny jeans and oddly cropped jackets for my taste. Does my love of you mean that I dress like a mom? Why can't you make your clothes in non-pregnant styles? And why do I pause in your doorway at least once a week thinking "I could probably belt that"? I guess I'll just have to wait till I get knocked up to enjoy your wares.

Gestationally yours,
Laura

Dear Capri Sun & Bandit Wine,

[photo courtesy three thieves]

Dear Capri Sun & Bandit Wine,

Alone, you are both so dear to my heart. Together, you make even late-night laundromat trips sing with the vigor and zest of a thousand drunken hummingbirds.

- Stephanie

p.s. You should mate and make some kind of boxed/pouched sangria drink. You can call it "Babri Sun." or "Candit."

Dear Susan G. Komen Foundation,

[image courtesy think before you pink]

Dear Susan G. Komen Foundation,

I want you to know that I am not a fan of breast cancer.

We've bought your $1 fake flowers at Walgreens. We've donated to friends who are Walking for the Cure™. We've sprung for your pink ribbons, your pink armbands, your pink mixers and blenders, even your pink cars-- and, well, I was just wondering...

How's that coming?

I couldn't help but notice that your CEO and COO make a combined total of $721,280 a year and, well... I was just wondering.

But maybe finding a cure isn't the point. Maybe it's not even possible. Maybe the purpose you serve is to draw people together, to give us an enemy we can fight, to get us up off our asses and walking.

And to give us stylish pink kitchen mixers.

And maybe that's OK.

But I was just wondering.

With reservation,
Laurie

Dear 15 Pounds,

[photo courtesy eldave]

Dear 15 Pounds,

I only gained you because I wanted to win the $3000 grand prize in the weight loss competition... that I just found out I can't participate in. You were easy to get... you didn't even play coy... you came willingly...

Now scram!

Your Ex-Best Friend,
Steph

Dear Scallops,

[photo courtesy dongkwan]
Dear Scallops,

I'm sad that you ruined my curry with your overly fishy taste.

I guess that's what I get for buying seafood in Wisconsin.

Regretfully,
Laurie

Dear Shoes I Bought on a Whim Cause They Were 1/2 Price,

[photo by magic!]

Dear Shoes that I bought on a whim cause they were 1/2 price,

I knew I liked you right off the bat, but I wasn't positive about your color. I really wanted you in grey, but they didn't have them in my size. Well I take it all back. I love you. You are comfortable and fashionable with the perfect heel size for a day at work. And the best part - everyone else loves you too! Including the MTA worker that stopped me on the train, just to say "hey lady...nice shoes."

Well done shoes. Well done.

Your friend in fashion,
Kat

Dear Gritz to Glitz Podcast,

[photos courtesy Cubwolf (Dave Smith) and Flirty Kitty]

Dear Grits to Glitz Podcast,

You are a delight. I love listening to Amy and Bay on the train as they laugh and laugh about everything from Vegas to Tennessee, but then I end up laughing like an idiot and looking crazy. But their ability to say silly things and just giggle together reminds me of my own sisters (and brother), who are far away, and it is like having a little piece of home in the big city. Plus, they love RuPaul's Drag Race, and that is mega points in my book. I just want to go to Mood and have a cocktail with you.

Tim Gunn and Fuji Apples,
Anna

Dear Snickers,

[photo courtesy dcapistrano]

Dear Snickers,

I didn't intend for this to happen. I pressed E1 with the full intention of getting a Kit Kat, which, for some reason, I pretend are "better" for me than other candy bars. But I misread the labeling system on the vending machine and ended up with you in my hand.

Your ads have been the source of much mirth and frustration for me lately. They're not as hatred-inspiring as that one a couple of years ago, the one with the words that were not based on any actual words, like "SATISFECTELLENT." No, these ones are both far better and far worse. "Get dunked on by Patrick Chewing" made me chuckle. "Snaxi" was kind of cute. But "Chewmute" took me a whole day to decipher*, and "Overthrow the Hungerment with a Chew d'Etat" is just, well, a mouthful.

But you know what? None of this matters now, Snickers. Because your combination of chewy caramel, soft nougat, crunchy peanuts, and smooth, rich milk chocolate is just what my afternoon needed. I'm glad that stupid vending machine was poorly labeled.

I love chew,
Anna

*it was on the side of a bus, if that helps.

Dear Haley Joel Osment,

(photo courtesy of detengase)

Dear Haley Joel Osment,

Last week my boyfriend spotted Naomi Watts, Andre 3000 AND Stephen Colbert while I was at work. I'm sure you're a cool kid but I might have to pretend I didn't see you at the Museum of Natural History the other day.

Please don't be offended.

Holding Out For Better,
Lauren

Dear Simone,

[photo courtesy of my computer phone]

Dear Simone,

You are oh so adorable. I love spending time with your cuteness....BUT we need to get one thing straight. You cannot jump on my bed early in the morning and wake me up - especially when I have a man-friend over.

You are really messing with my game.

Remember who feeds you,
Kat

Dear Brooklyn Flea,

[photo courtesy The {NewNew} NY]

Dear Brooklyn Flea,

How can so many wonderful things be contained in such a relatively small area? I feel like Ariel in her grotto. The only thing I didn't see was a marble statue of Prince Eric, but I wouldn't be surprised if one turned up some week. From your delicious limeade to your vintage dresses to the over-the-knee black, purple, fuchsia and green suede boots that didn't fit, I love you.

See you again soon,
Anna

Dear Letters to Things,

Dear Letters to Things,

OMG, I love you. When I wake up in the morning and I am getting ready for work, you are second only to reading my email. I love to see your updates, even when I haven't contributed this week... you are sexy and I am totally infatuated with you.

I only wish I'd thought of you first.

Always wanting to be yours,
Steph

Dear Capri Sun,

(photo courtesy of prawnpie)

Dear Capri Sun,

Even now at twenty five years old, when I see you hiding in the back of the bodega fridge, I linger a moment too long.

I know you are full of sugar and chemicals and add nothing good to the human body but the taste of your strawberry-kiwi goodness will always and forever put a smile on my face.

Never Change,
Lauren

Dear My Life,

[photo by programwitch]

Dear My Life,


Where the fuck did you go?!


I miss you.


Write me back,
Kat

Dear Weekend,

[photo courtesy riotjane]

Dear Friday,

I can’t wait!

Love,
Andrea


===


Dear Saturday,

I love being in bed with you all morning! I really, really do.

Best,
Andrea


===


Dear Sunday,

Head hurts.

Oww. Must drink water.

Who is playing the bongos on my frontal lobe?

ME

Dear Scotch,

[photo courtesy tsep!]

Dear Scotch,

I remember when we were first introduced: sans rocks, single malt, overpriced. We were introduced by the creepy fat guy I was so fascinated with, even though I knew he was a pathological liar and a sociopath. I drank you to impress him, and because I loved alcohol.

Now, five years later: on the rocks, soda water, lemon juice, bottom shelf. Always my drink of choice. You make better every hard day at work, every party, every sunny day on the patio. You make my teenager almost tolerable. You've lasted longer than almost all of my relationships, and have made me cry less often. You complete me.

... but could you please start coming in 5 gallon buckets?

Your girl forever,
Steph

Dear Plantronics CS55 Headset with Optional HL10 Lifter,

[image courtesy plantronics.com]

Dear Plantronics CS55 Headset with Optional HL10 Lifter,

Why are you so fucking difficult to install? I hate you with the fire of a thousand suns.

Fuck off,
Anna

Dear Guy Who Works Two Cubes Down From Me,

Dear Guy Who Works Two Cubes Down From Me,

Please stop following me with your eyes every time I walk past your desk. Please stop lounging by my cube, pretending to talk to the guy next to me. Please stop making me talk to you about banal bullshit after I tell you that I'm late for the bus. Please stop creepily remembering every single thing I've ever said to you.

And, most of all, please stop inviting me to that cheap Tex-Mex chain for lunch. The shrimp chimichangas will never stop tasting like lemon-scented Dawn and you? You will never see me naked.

Respectfully,
Laurie

Dear Cute Dudes Who Are Shorter Than Me,

[photo courtesy tim eschaton]

Dear Cute Dudes Who Are Shorter Than Me,

Why are you always so cute? And why do you have to toy with my socially-reinforced notion that I am supposed to be attracted to some sort of lumberjack? I'm not a tall woman - slightly above average, I suppose - but I do often wear heels, which makes it difficult for me to look like a delicate flower next to you. And that's my goal, really: tricking everyone into seeing me as a delicate flower. Suckers.

Let's make out,
Anna

Dear Jonathan Taylor Thomas,

This post is part of "People Who Should Date Us Mondays"

(picture by alyson)

Dear Jonathan Taylor Thomas,

I don't really think you should date me now but when I was in middle school I would have given my right kidney to have one hour with you at Chuckie Cheese or the Mall Food Court. As a blossoming twelve-year old I watched Home Improvement daily just to glimpse your brown, middle-parted, flowy hair. I even had a Tiger Beat poster of you on my ceiling (creepy, I know).

I was in love.

And then Brooke (the 7th grade bully) told me you were gay. I died a little that day.

So Jonathan, or JTT as I called you back then. If I could go back in time 10 + years I would tell you that you should date me. Because besides being captain of the volleyball team, and wearing umbro shorts almost everyday, I was your girl.

Pubescently Yours,
Lauren

Dear Rupert Brooke,

On Mondays, we write letters to people who should date us. We call this "Letters to People Who Should Date Us Monday," because when we made up the name, it was a Monday, and it was early, and we were all tired. So sue us.


[photo courtesy world war pictures]

Dear Rupert Brooke,
I remember the first time I laid eyes on you, in Mr. Backes' class. Tanya and I were instantly smitten, and we ripped out the page of the English anthology that bore your picture in an act of rebellion. We were just being silly high-school girls who thought you were, as Yeats said, "the handsomest young man in England." Plus, you died when you were only 27, like Kurt Cobain and Janis Joplin, which meant you were hot FOREVER. (That you died of a mosquito bite is not very rock-star, but you were so hot that we'll forgive it.)

But Rupert - your poems are actually kind of good. The titles definitely are. Check these titles out:

• On the Death of Smet-Smet, the Hippopotamus-Goddess
• Thoughts on the Shape of the Human Body
• He Wonders Whether to Praise or to Blame Her
• Sonnet (Suggested by some of the Proceedings of the Society for Psychical Research)
  

And this poem? MAJOR BURN. That last line slays me.

If there is ever a zombie apocalypse, I'm going to find you and make a zombie out of you so I can be your zombie girlfriend. That's love, Rupert. That's love.

Brains,
Anna

Dear Google Maps,

[photo courtesy a fucking liar]

Dear Google Maps,

Until today, we've had a great relationship. I've used you time and time again to find things (and also to see nude sunbathers on roofs). But why did you do this to me today? Why would you tell me there is a Wendy's when there is no Wendy's? All I wanted to do was try that panko-crusted fish sandwich, Google Maps. And I couldn't. Because of you.

It's going to be hard to trust you again. But I know I'll come back to you in time. What else would I do, use MapQuest? PLEASE.

With high hopes,
Anna

Dear Facebook and Myspace,

[image courtesy coso_blues]

Dear Facebook and Myspace,

When we started our relationship, it was a fun way to connect with friends and play some games.

Lately, I feel guilty all the time, if I don't accept your friend requests, or "play" my applications which are like ongoing jobs I don't get paid for. I always liked your social aspect, but I feel a lot of emotional blackmail lately. Please reconsider.

Social media consciously yours,
Steph

Dear Staff Meeting,

[photo by mezzoblue]

Dear Staff Meeting,

Why are you sucking my soul with every passing minute?





Stop it.




See ya next Thursday,
Kat

Dear Couscous,

[photo courtesy travelingtribe]

Dear Couscous,

You come in a box.

You are healthy and delicious.

You cook in five minutes.

Thank you, couscous.

Yours Forever,
Laurie

Dear Passion Cove Softcore Porn Series,

[image courtesy of this ridiculous fansite]

Dear Passion Cove Softcore Porn Series,

You truly are the crown jewel of Cinemax's After Dark collection. After having watched four episodes in a row of your non-wang-featuring series set in a rental property managed by the mysterious "Samantha," I feel confident in my ability to write a spec script for you. Here's a sample:

Kind of Ugly Dude: Maybe you should practice your oboe, here at this magical house that makes people horny.
Not-as-ugly Chick: I'm just feeling so...uncreative right now.
Kind of Ugly Dude: Maybe I can help you get your juices flowing.
[they BONE the way people BONE in a 14-year-old's IMAGINATION]
Not-as-ugly Chick [VO]: And that's how I got into Julliard. Thanks, Passion Cove.
Samantha: [smiles MYSTERIOUSLY]

See? Easy.

It's not my ear you whispered into...it's my heart.
Anna

Dear Aunt Carol and Uncle Peter's Swanky Apartment That I Am Housesitting,

[photo courtesy DerrickT]

Dear Aunt Carol and Uncle Peter's Swanky Apartment That I Am Housesitting,

I'm going to be frank here: I think I might be in love with you. Your windows alone leave me breathless. Your double oven makes me tremble with delight. I want to walk around barefoot on your gleaming hardwood floors all night long. And the jacuzzi tub? Let's just say that pilgrims to Mecca, or the Wailing Wall, or any number of religious sites could not have had a more spiritually fulfilling experience than I did in the blast of your jets. All I want to do is sit on your white leather couch, sipping wine and watching Eastbound and Down on HBO On Demand.

See you tonight,
Anna

Dear Chicken Caesar Salad Wrap from the Moonrock Diner,

[photo courtesy ayngelina]


Dear Chicken Caesar Salad Wrap from the Moonrock Diner,

You are delicious, but please stop falling apart when I try to eat you.

Yours,
Oran

Dear Subway Car that Smelled like Urine,

[photo by JAANY]

Dear Subway Car that Smelled like Urine,

When I stepped inside you today, I could not believe my nose. The smell pummeled me like a championship boxer taking on my cat. It was bad. I was shocked to see people actually sitting in you like nothing was amiss. When I changed cars at the next stop, I breathed in the air as if I was in a forest...a forest of feelings.

I was refreshed.

Please clean up your act stinky car. Even if they pretend you do not smell, no one likes to ride you.

Smell ya lata,'
Kat

Dear New York Times,

[photo courtesy brendan_wilkinson]


Dear New York Times,

Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr playing Beatles songs together on the same stage does not mean you are allowed to call them "The Fab Two".

Otherwise, great job.

Stephanie

Dear Gossip Girl,

[photo courtesy mcpanic]


Dear Gossip Girl,

You know I love you. Truly, you are everything delightful.

But these hiatuses (hiatusi?)... they hurt, Gossip Girl, really. With RuPaul's Drag Race over, don't you know you're what I look forward to on Monday?

Stop teasing me, Gossip Girl, and let your catty, Machiavellian, fashionista flag fly without interruption.

XOXO,
Deborah

Dear Cooper Black,

[photo courtesy AdamT Tappman]

Dear Cooper Black,

I forgot how much I liked you. I'm not one to fawn over a font with serifs, but your round edges remind me of a pillow stuffed with pudding. That's a good thing. It's too bad you're really only good for signage...how much signage do I make, really? But let's not be strangers, eh?

Yes We Kern,
Anna

Dear Danny McBride,

We met in The Foot Fist Way, but I had a boyfriend back then. I saw you again in Tropic Thunder, but I thought we'd just be friends, because back in Tropic Thunder I was still crushing on Steve Coogan.

But then you stole every scene in Pineapple Express, and singlehandedly kept me from being disappointed in a movie I was extremely excited to see, and now that you've just blown my mind with the best premium cable comedy to be ever be on premium cable, I really want to take things to end the heretofore platonic nature of our relationship.

I know, Danny. You are just going to say that Clover pretty much universally likes chubby comedy dudes. And yes, I've loved a fat funny dude before, almost sociopathically I love fat funny dudes, but you are special. You make humilition so hilarious and comedy so tragic. There have been similar dudes before you, but I have never felt so sad and pants-pissy all at once. It's next level type shit. You are a master of very essence comedy, and I am in awe of you.

If by any chance you walk around LA in hoodies and converse, I will probably just marry you or rape you on the spot. Or both. I feel like we possibly live near each other, so FYI, I drink a lot at the Griffin. And Sgt. Recruiter. And El Prado. And the El Torito in Santa Monica. Okay, I just drink a lot. Let's meet up.

xoxo,
Clover

[photo credit:Jeff Kravitz/filmmagic.com]

Dear Hugh Laurie,

[image courtesy ingaslefthand]

Dear Hugh Laurie,

I know you're not actually Dr. Gregory House. So please do not worry that this is another meaningless piece of fan mail. I love you, Hugh. I love the actual you.

I looked you up on the internet and found out that you are 'happily married'... with kids. I have never been more crushed. I don't understand that though, because when I watch you every Monday night (and then again and again on the internet), I can just tell you are looking into my soul. You're acting, I know - but some things you just can't hide. We're meant to be together.

I don't want to break up a happy home, but I must point out - if you were so happy with your wife, would you really allow such feelings to exist? Because you can't pretend it's just me...

I love that you look like a monkey and I love that you're grouchy and have a limp. I'll take care of your cane, I promise.

Yours,
Susanna

PS - I heard you on the radio once and you were pretending to have an English accent. Please stop; it doesn't become you - or us.

Dear Taye Diggs (who should date me),

[photo courtesy dedebee]

Dear Taye Diggs (who should date me):

Umm, for real Taye, you should date me. I have, for years, told anyone who'd listen that we belong together; it's time to come clean with you. The stars have it written that we should be together. I am cute and I'm goin places. You are cute and you've already gone places. I've misplaced my groove man, show me how to get it back.

I realize that you are married to a woman and that I am a man. So? This is 2009. Also, if you don't feel like dating I'd still be down for some animalistic, sweaty action.

Can't wait,
J

Dear Greg Sestero (aka "Mark" from The Room)

[photo by MAXimum talent...it's based in Denver. I don't have to say anything else]

Dear Greg Sestero (aka"Mark" from The Room),

I can't go on another minute without confessing something. I have a crush on you...big time. Ever since I laid eyes on you (last Friday) in the cinematic masterpiece The Room, I can't think of any one else. What is it about you that captivates me? Is it your perfectly trimmed "I haven't had time to shave for exactly 2.5 days" facial hair? Could it be the way you ALWAYS look like you are from the mid-90's? Or is it simply your acting skills, which (let's be honest) pretty much suck, but look AMAZING next to Tommy Wiseau's performance?

I think we would make a great match because we are both hot, obviously share a love of bad movies and like to "throw the football around."* Also, I have slept with A LOT of actors,** so I feel that I could please you.

Please write me back.

You are literally TEARING ME APART GREG,***
Kat

*Not a euphemism people, just a movie reference.

**"A LOT" is obviously subjective...but then again so is "actor."

***Replace the name "Greg" with "Lisa" and you have an actual line from The Room. Brava Mr. Wiseau...brava.

Dear Bobby Moynihan,

[photo courtesy djgnat]

Dear Bobby Moynihan,

No one loves that Mark Payne character like I do. NO ONE. I can't explain why I love it so, but I suspect it has something to do with the fact that you are my future boyfriend. You are adorable, and funny, and have lovely, lovely hair. I'm hilarious, have an awesome rack, and make a mean cupcake. WIN-WIN FOR EVERYONE.

And Bobby! We have SIX Facebook friends! Six! We're practically on the same bowling team, dude.

Call me,
Anna

Letters to People Who Should Date Us Monday

[photo courtesy debaird™]

What had happened was:

Clover wrote a post on her blog requesting a date.

Then we decided to all do this. On this blog. Because seriously - we all need dates. Posts today will be addressed to people who should date us.

Dear Sunday Night,

(via)

Dear Sunday night,

I wish I found you as pleasant as I once did. I wish I savored what you are instead of wishing you were something you will never be- any other day of the week. We both know that a relationship will never be healthy when one person is always wishing for the other to be something they are not, cannot be. For my part in this unhealthy relationship, I am sorry, but you will always be my least favourite night of the week.

No love,
brandy

p.s. Maybe if you had better television programming we could work something out? Remember when you had Grey's Anatomy? Man, those were the good ol' days.

Dear Pasta,

[photo courtesy lofi]

Dear Pasta,

Exactly why do you come in different shapes with the same ingredients?

Just wondering,
Warren

Dear Tommy Wiseau's The Room,

[photo courtesy Brian Indrelunas]

Dear Tommy Wiseau's The Room,

I knew when Lindsay from Videogum said I had to watch you, I should do it, because I have never not liked a thing she likes, but I have to tell you - you were so much more than I expected. I don't really have words. Thank you for existing, and for being so legendarily bad.

You're tearing me apart,
Anna

Dear Food,

[photo courtesy kitsa_sakurako]

Dear Food,

I know I usually talk to you verbally vs. in an email. Why do people make fun of me for talking to you at work – so much so that I had to blog about it? Why don’t more people give you props – right to your face? Food, even though I usually make you my bitch, you rock my world!

Hungrily yours,
Steph

Dear Bedazzle Nail Decals I Got for Free,

[photo courtesy Pink Rocker]

Dear Bedazzle Nail Decals I Got for Free,

I would never have purchased you except possibly as a joke. Your designs of roses, fans, Chinese lanterns, and tiny, slightly-racist Chinese ladies are mostly just confusing to me.

But.

Once I put you on my nails, I started to like you. Maybe a bit too much. I'm glad we're taking it slow and I only put you on five out of my ten nails. Keep up the good work. Next time...let's go all the way.

Xie xie,
Anna