Sweetie,

I hope you tell me how you feel. That way I don’t need to be scared reaching for you standing on my tippy toes.

Each time I open the refrigerator, you wobble and look like you’re about to fall over.

I’d love to have you with my coffee. You are sticky. That’s something I’m not a fan of unfortunately. Trust me, licking my fingers to get to the bottom of things, only spells trouble for me.

I do not see any FDA-approved stickers on you. You obviously can’t just talk. Your yellow-feet remind me of curious George’s keeper.

My coffee is HOT and just that reminds me to think of you. I get my rounds in daily, haven’t you seen, spotted, glanced at or read one sentence of the papers hanging all over my jail cell? Connecting dots is something clowns and children often do.

Don’t worry, I breach this rut hourly, ma.

I do encourage you to call again, ask if I’m there and will be if you pull up in 5. You could run my life, be my wife, test-text me.. say it was a buttdial even from a number I don’t get a busy-tone dialing, but noooo… I didn’t think your flag could be so white but that’s nothing. There’s very little I feel safe knowing. ❤️ 🛑