To the man at Starbucks: Sir, please put on a shirt. An undershirt is just that. A shirt to wear under other shirts. If you do not wear another shirt over the undershirt, it does not make it a shirt to be worn in public. It does, however, make me want to throw up my white chocolate mocha, no matter how good looking you (think you) may be.
To my beloved hairstylist, Julie: Simply adding super-blonde highlights will not make me "just like" Reese Witherspoon. It is going to take oh so much more than that. I do, however, love what you do with my hair. Except for when you dry it. Just scrunching my hair does not "pull out the natural wave." It just makes me look like I didn't brush my hair when I woke up.
To the man behind me in line at Target: Yes, I know I was in the express lane with more than 10 items. Let me save you the time and brain cells used to count my items. There were 12. I had my reasons, though, so...sorry.
To the Boise State Football team: I'm sorry that I didn't stay up to watch your game. I'm sorry that I underestimated your atheltic abitlities in the 4th and 18 situation that prompted me to turn the tv off and go to bed. My punishment was missing the very end of what I've heard was a phenominal game. Oh, and thank you for beating a Big 12 team. I don't like the Big 12.
looky there, no more favorites, I can link to you from the diner i frequent daily! nice! Jennie
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