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Dear Susannah, please stop asking me eight times a day for a “big ol’ giant piece of gum.” The odds that I’m going to suddenly decide that’s a good idea are very slim. Dear self, the next time you’ve managed to convince yourself that you’re pretty sure you didn’t turn the burner on, take your lazy hide in to check before the lovely aroma of burnt chocolate has permeated the entire house. Dear house, enough with the burnt smell, already. Dear debit card, the next time you decide to randomly accept $750+ in charges from India, at least send me a doctored touristy photo of me on an elephant or something so I can pretend I was there. Dear Dave Ramsey, thanks to your awesome financial advice we didn’t have to dissolve into complete panic mode when our money went to feed India’s starving children. Dear bank, if it’s all the same to you, we’d like it back. Dear Heather and Caleb, remind me sometime in the next year that, yes, it is worth the investment to buy games that will only get played once a year. Because owning only Rook is not a good thing. Dear Michael Buble, don’t let on to Josh, but your Christmas CD is the bomb. Dear Madeline, I’m beginning to think that daddy didn’t do such a killer job cutting the umbilical cord. Dear husband, it’s not cool to bring up my gray hairs. And claiming that you like them is not believable. Saying it makes me looks ‘distinguished’ probably isn’t going to help either.

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