Happy anniversary to my parents, who have been nauseatingly into each other for 26 years today. Honestly. Not in a weird PDA sort of way, but wow, they really like each other. More than I think I could ever like another person for five minutes much less a quarter of a century.
That being said, I really like my blue eyes and red hair (Even if the woman at the DMV said it wasn’t red enough to put on my driver’s license.) And your previous significant others were nothing to write home about. Dad? The mortician? Honestly? (Although she’d probably let me watch Crminal Minds in the living room.) And Chet? Good Lord, Mom, was your taste in men horrible. So I’m glad you two found one another.
And I’ve been reading a lot of Jodi Picoult lately, and I’d also like to thank you for never suing me, saying that my birth was a wrongful birth, aborting me, giving me up for adoption, growing me in a petri dish so that I could give a kidney to my cancer-ridden sister, ignoring my bulimia, discounting my ability to talk to God, or getting me killed in a school shooting. (Goodness. That woman does drama.)