Dear New Sweater,
I’m sorry for catching you in the paper cutter. Twice. Ahem. I’m amazed that, try as I might, I could not cut your fabric. I mean really, you look so light and airy, but apparently you’re made of Kevlar. Who knew I’d be getting such protection for $20. I will now stop trying to chop you to smithereens.
The girl who shouldn’t be allowed to use sharp objects
P.S. I’m also sorry for the spaghetti sauce splattering incident at lunch. You’re a white sweater, you had to see that coming, no?
I’m sorry that ice cream, cereal and salads are the extent of my dinner menu. Thankfully you make a mean batch of vanilla pancakes or we would probably starve.
Your domestically challenged wife
I’m sorry I haven’t taken you out for a spin for a few weeks. The cobwebs in your spokes are reprehensible. I’m profoundly sorry and look forward to a reunion soon. Please, please don’t buck me off in bitterness the next time we meet.
I’m sorry I was a whiny baby in the chair. In my defense you had to fix things in 3 of the 4 quadrants of my mouth. And let’s face it, nobody likes to hear “I think I can do this one without numbing you.” You’re right, it didn’t hurt, but the anticipation of pain caused buckets of perspiration to build up in my armpits and seep onto the chair. Please accept my apologies for all the whimpering and, no doubt, for the extra time spent mopping up after me.
Me and my new and improved molars