I’m so sorry. I wasted the first fifteen years of my life on your milk-ier counterpart. Countless times I’d roll my eyes at you in the candy aisle and pass you up for less sophisticated chocolates like Hershey’s and Reese’s. But you were patient, you didn’t give up, and finally when I came around, I learned you had health benefits? I will never fail you again.
WHAT WAS I THINKING?! I’ve heard many stories about the tantrums of epic proportion I threw when my parents told me it was nap-time. If I actually spent all of that time napping instead of pouting in my crib, I would’ve probably grown up to be a much more pleasant, well-rested person. I was an idiot. The things I would do for a nap right now… You don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone.
When smart-phones were first introduced, I cursed you. I was the fastest T-9 texter in the whole neighborhood, and there you were to slow me down. Little did I know that ten years later you would save me every weekend. Now you allow my friends to understand that “lpst. mret me ib thw bsthropm” really means “lost, meet me in the bathroom” when I’ve had one (five) too many tequila shots. You speak my language. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.
Yeah, so occasionally I still think you taste like dirty socks, but now that I’ve learned to speak “barista” (Grande Americano, 2 pumps caramel, with room), we’re in a much better place. I could not make it through the day without you. Thank you.
Sometimes a girl just can’t party til the bars close. Sometimes, it’s been a long week, and she wants to go to bed. But I have to pretend to be cool, so I stay out way too late, and subsequently die for the next two days. I would probably pay someone to follow me around and say things like “Hey, it’s midnight, you have to be up in six hours, maybe you should go home.” or, “You idiot, get off BuzzFeed, the internet will exist tomorrow- GO TO BED.” Seriously, if you’re interested in this job, let me know.
Full disclosure: I still hate cleaning. But at least when I was forced to do them every week, it was a manageable task. Now, I let a few weeks go by, and all of a sudden I’m living in an episode of Hoarders. It used to be “You’re not going anywhere until your room is clean” and now it’s “Ugh my apartment is a disaster, does anyone wanna go shopping?” Life was much simpler when I had rules, and I just want to say I’m sorry for hating you, chores.
This is the worst one. It literally pains me to think I threw away perfectly good bread. If I could go back to my 8 year-old self, you know, before I started gaining weight just by looking at food, I would slap her in the face. What a waste. Crust, I’m sorry for quite literally cutting you out of my life, but honestly, I’ve probably made it up to you by now. I’ll have a panini for dinner, and we’ll call it even.
Stop smiling, you have nothing to be proud of.