Thursday, February 16, 2012
Dear Red Velvet,
I see you over there.
Staring at me, with what's left of you after Valentine's Day, glittery in that shiny glass trifle dish--you're like a gem just waiting to be picked up and loved.
Say it: you want me.
And I want you.
But listen, you're no good for me. Last night I stood in a pitiful, self-loathing shower after meeting the two new friends who have taken residence on my woman hips.
Their names are Love Handle 1 and Love Handle 2.
And they're mean to me.
And although you've always been good to me, Red Velvet--making finishing dinner that much more exciting and filling my soul with sheer buttery bliss--you did this to me.
And for that, I can't. I just can't.
I'll save you for husband.