dear husband-to-be,
at this point i make a mean cup of coffee, am relatively adept around the kitchen, and my boobs will only stay perky for so long.
hurry up.
xo,
yours
a letter to the man who'll make me an honest woman
dear husband-to-be,
hey!
you!
hurry up. it is spring in new york and suddenly there are good looking men... everywhere.
everywhere! i say.
and i might get distracted.
ah hell, i might just marry such a distraction.
love,
the woman with the eye wandering towards you
dear husband-to-be,
here's the thing: i want the cake smash.
dear God in heaven above, i want the cake smash.
i simply don't understand why it's no longer popular--why not everyone would opt for this little slice of whimsy.
because if you can't have a food fight on the day you pledge your life to someone, well then... what's the point?
love, love,
yours with a sugar tooth and cherry on top
(ps: my parent's did it and they've had a pretty good run. plus, i'm gonna need my own picture like this).
a letter to the man who finally undoes me (in the best possible way)...
baby, you're the one for whom i'm gonna break all the rules.
xo,
the one you sunk
to my one-day-pal:
dear love,
i get blue. sometimes. often, maybe. i lean in that direction. and then, sometimes more, i lean into it. the blue.
and when i do, i can be convinced--or rather, i convince myself--that, well... a change in hair color can change my life.
yes. hair color.
and the thing is. it doesn't. and i end up hating it. and spending far too much time scrub-a-dub-dubbing it away in the shower.
so in those moments--those quiet lulls when you feel me fading, pull me close, kiss my lips, and promise that you won't let me touch my tresses--because you think they're perfect just as they are.
hell, you think i'm perfect just as i am.
love, love,
the girl with the hair with the auburn cast (for now)