Dear

This weekend I wrote a little and read a lot at Starbucks.

I decided I can't wait for Daz Bog to open here.

Dear fellow Fort Collinsians,

Please do not
visit Daz Bog.
Please keep packing
every Starbucks in town
to the gills.
Daz Bog and I
won't mind.

Really.


And also, Dear Fellow Fort Collinites,

You people drive me crazy at green turn arrows, but man.
Do you dress nice.
You are beautiful, women!
(you men I don't notice as much, but
I'm sure you're quite good looking
too).
However, I am not sure
about the boyfriend jean look
you all are rocking.
It works on Katie Holmes, kind of.
But on the rest of us?
Not yet convinced.

Dear Coopersmiths,
My beloved, my darling, rester of my heart and
soother of my soul
Thank you, from the
depths of my being for
your 'pubside regular' discount AND
the waitress who gives it to us,
whose name we
still
don't
know.

Dear Barb*,
I said it before you did, actually.
Nikki is a sociopath.

Dear Margene*,
When can we get coffee?

Dear Nikki*,
It's never too late to
start anew.

Dear Husband,
Thank you for your
kitchenly glory.
And for cooking me white fish when only
Pork
is on the menu.

Dear Indy,
Thank you for this exchange:
Mommy: "No, you can't have Sabrecitos. They aren't good for your body."
Indy: "But they're good for my mouth!"

And, Dearest Ayla,
Thank you for doing Josh's voice, and,
while he was crawling on his belly, making him say:
"I'm going to crawl over here on my tummy like a tiger! But
I'm going to try not to lick because
tigers don't lick."

Over and out.

--Vesuvius

***Hendrickson, that is.