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Dear August, flutter by already. I will not miss you. Dear hideous running track at the park by grandmas house, we had an epic battle…and you won. Next time it won’t be 105 degrees and I won’t eat pasta and the outcome will be different.  Dear Madeline, this may come as a surprise to you, but telling me that “picking boogers out of your nose makes your nail polish come right off” isn’t going to make me more likely to re-do your fingers.  Dear great-grandma Fries-uh-ner, we had a killer time.  Visiting you is always a blast.  Dear Heather, my giant arm bruise is finally almost gone.  I still don’t like vine-ripened tomatoes.   But I’ll probably never say that to your face again….

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