Dear KC:  Remember when I had a long day of working out then working then teaching, and I came home and you had made dinner?  It’s like, I couldn’t love you any more, but then you were like, “Oh yeah, but I made you carbs,” and my heart exploded.  I sure do love you.

Dear Penny:  I’m sorry that we made you swim during our vacation last weekend.  But I’m not really sorry because your little doggy paddle is so dang cute.

Dear Pizza:  Why must you be so delicious?  I think this whole eating-you-nonstop thing is going to have to end soon, since I really don’t feel like buying a whole new wardrobe’s worth of pants.

Dear Russian River:  You sure are relaxing.  Your amazingness gives me little defense against KC’s obsession with buying a vacation home on your shores.

Dear Oysters:  I get why you’re so expensive (because cheap oysters is kind of on par with cheap sushi, right?), but I sort of wish you weren’t, since I can really eat Kumamotos by the bucketful.  (As long as there’s plenty of hot sauce.  Yum.)

Dear Thursday:  Can’t you just be Friday already?  I’m tired.  Thanks.

Dear SYTYCD:  You’re not as exciting this season as you have been in the past.  I kind of don’t care about anyone.  (Except Ricky, who we all know is going to win.)

Dear LinkedIn:  I sort of don’t see the point of you, and the incessant buzzing on my phone just makes me want to delete you altogether.

Dear Myron’s Walk:  You might just be the best beer in the Beer Camp Across America box.  Although, the Torpedo Hoppy Pilsner might be giving you a run for your money.

Dear Sleep:  Let’s meet up this weekend.

Love, Chelsea