Dear Passion Fruit Sorbet Intermezzo Palate-Cleansing Course,

[photo via my camera]

Dear Passion Fruit Sorbet Intermezzo Palate-Cleansing Course I Had at a Fancy Wedding,

You are the epitome of Fanciness. And also of Deliciousness.

Please be in every meal I eat.

Love,
Anna

Dear Crazy HOTT Gym guy,

[photo from google image...but trust me, my guy does not look this douche-y]

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

Dear Crazy HOTT Gym guy,


We have been going to the same gym for so long, I feel like we've basically been dating for months. But alas, I am the only one who knows about it. I really think it is time that we take our relationship to the next level...reality.

I have been with you through so much...and so many hairstyles. Through your original ponytail, when I first fell in love with you. Till now with your short crop of adorable brown locks. I even stood by you through that weird half-mullet thing you tried. I was there!

I don't know what to do. I have written you TWO missed connections on Craigslist. I have awkwardly stared you down for minutes at a time. I've even almost bumped into you. Do I actually have to talk to you for you to ask me out?!

I've done my part. Now it's time for you to do yours.


Meet you at the smoothie bar,
Kat

Dear Lindt Chocolate,

[photo via fenchurch!]

Dear Lindt Chocolate,

I think my husband is becoming suspicious of our affair. How does the usually clueless one finally have one? It could be the bag of truffles hidden in my undies drawer; or maybe he discovered the truffles in the Green Giant Brussel Sprouts bag in the freezer; or maybe he's noticed my jeans hugging my ass more tightly.

Whatever it is, I think he's on to us! We must be more discreet in our liaisons. . . meet you on the back porch at midnight?

I adore you and don't know if I can ever live without you.

Evil Eva

Dear flies that have made a home in our office,

[photo by hessiebell]

Dear flies that have made a home in our office,


You are disgusting! How the hell did you get in here? Why are you plaguing us?

I bought a new trash can with a tight fitting lid. I have taken out the recycling. I have even cleaned my desk area with Clorox wet wipes. What more can I do?!

Look, I don't want to kill you. I don't even want to hurt you. I just cannot deal with constantly having to bat you out of my face. Perhaps a truce? I know the office across the hall has an exceptionally messy kitchen with many goodies for you to feast on. What do you say?


Please buzz off,
Kat

Dear Daffy's,

[photo via x-eyedblonde]

Dear Daffy's,

When I first saw you in Herald Square, I took your tagline - "Bargains for Millionaires" - to mean that you were a designer discount store, thus meaning that a "bargain" would be a $4000 dress marked down to $1000. So I didn't visit you for a long time. But then, one fateful rainy day, I stopped in to see if you had umbrellas. "Surely the umbrellas will be reasonably-priced," I thought, "even if nothing else is."

And a whole new world opened up to me.

Sure, some of the things you have are cheaply made and weird. Sure, a lot of them are from brands no one has ever heard of. But if one is very, very patient, and very, very lucky, sometimes a diamond will be nestled among the cubic zirconia of fashions. Among the scores I have made there are: a pair of over-the-knee burgundy striped socks; a pair of pseudo-ballet shoes in a sensible brown; and a delightful "I'm going to buy a cardigan because it's cold but OMG this cardigan is actually really cute and I wear it all the time now" cardigan.

But yesterday, Daffy's, you made my heart sing.

On the rack, the dress looked perfect. A color I adore, a length that's flattering, a silhouette that anyone can wear, a brand that people actually know. But it was marked as a size that I have not worn since before I developed a huge set of boobs (thanks, Grandma). Still, I had faith. I tried it on...and I died of happiness. And then was resurrected (also by the happiness). I dropped just $40 and now I'm ready for all the weddings I have to go to this summer. Your 18 locations in NY, NJ, and PA are a wonderland of bargains.

Bless you, Daffy's. Blaffy's.
Anna

Dear Garnier Nutrisse Chocolate Caramel Level 3 Permanent Creme Haircolor,

[photo via drugstore.com]

Dear Garnier Nutrisse Chocolate Caramel Level 3 Permanent Creme Haircolor,

Look. I know part of this is my fault. I should know by now - after having dyed my hair various colors since the age of 12 when I convinced my mom to let me get Clairol GLINTS semi-permanent haircolor to go black "just for Halloween" - that my (naturally brown, rather boring) hair desperately wants to be red. It really does. If the box says "brown," it will turn out red. If the box says "golden," it will turn out red. If the box says "red," "auburn," cherry," or any other term that might actually be red, well shit: I'm gonna look like Julianne Moore, except not luminously beautiful. The only words that will keep my hair from turning out some shade of red are "black" and "peroxide."

So really I blame myself here for the redness that happened when I used you. But the lady on the box looked like she was having so much fun being a Medium Golden Mahogany Brunette that I couldn't resist. Plus, I was bored. At least it's not like that one time I tried to go blue. Pro tip: don't trust crazily-colored dye at Walgreens. Those kids at Hot Topic really do know what they're doing. Let them help you. Manic Panic. Forever.

Anyway, Garnier Nutrisse Chocolate Caramel Level 3 Permanent Creme Haircolor, we're still cool. I don't look crazy, I just don't look as lightened-up as I'd hoped. Next time we have a date, let's make it a three-way with my old flame peroxide.

Love,
Anna

Dear Job,

[photo by mikecolvin82]

Dear Job,


You can suck it.


Love,
Kat

Dear Mammatus Clouds,

[photo via CoreBurn]

Dear Mammatus Clouds,

You are named "mammatus" because you look like boobs. Okay, udders, technically, but still: boobs. But I think you look like the end of the world. By the transitive property, that would mean that boobs are the end of the world, which I can say with some authority is patently untrue. Please get a better name more suited to your end-of-the-world-ness, like Rapture Formations, or Massive Global Explosion Puffs, or Michael Bay Wins an Oscar Clouds.

Apocalyptically,
Anna