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Dear Martin Luther King Jr., how is that you’re the only person in our history that gets his own federal holiday?  Doesn’t seem quite fair, somehow.  Although I’m not going to complain because it means Jeremy gets the day off.  Which is nice because we can finish up all of our arguments from the weekend.  Dear Madeline, guess I know where all the hair bands are going.  I found thirty-one of them under your bed.  Thirty-one!  Dear 24, I know, I know.  I sound like I’m obsessed with you.  But I’ll never forgive you for killing off Bill and turning Tony into a traitor.  Luckily you’ve already been cancelled so I don’t have to do anything rash like boycott.  Dear Ang, as it turns out I’m really slow at embroidery.  And not very good.  If I continue at my current rate of speed, Lucy should have her quilt by the time she’s three.  Dear moths, stop eating my nice wool coat!  Wretched little creatures.  Dear gigantic truck pulling the world’s longest trailer, what on earth were you thinking driving into the Walmart parking lot and in what world could you have ever made that turn?  Did you really not notice when you hit that mini cooper?  I seriously considered going all Chuck Norris on you and running you down.  Lucky for you I pulled hamstring just thinking about it.  I hope that employee got your license plate number because I couldn’t read it.  Jerk.   Dear lemon cake, you were the death of my weight-loss challenge last week.  Thanks a lot. (But you were so stinking good.)   Dear Susannah, for the sake of my sanity PLEASE stop swishing your milk around in your mouth before swallowing.  So gross.  Dear husband, my arguments and I miss you.

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