Dear husband,
1 word will do: secondfrigginplace!!! So proud of you and your mad “I never train” mountain bike skills. Last night you seriously made me laugh harder than I ever have with you. For hours. Love.
Dear Jillian Michaels,
Oh really? Really?! Eleventy billion sets of jumping squats?! Pretty sure you made up some of those moves and people think you belong in the loon. The rain forced us to skip our Tuesday run/ride and meet with you. I think we forgot how much we loathe you, but we said it at least 12 times last night while you yelled in our faces. PS I secretly love you.
Dear old cooking light magazine I bought at a used book sale,
My husband wants to marry you for the Latin baked chicken I made last night. Until he took that first bite on the living room floor, I had never heard him say “THIS IS FRIGGINGOODCHICKEN!” so many times.
Dear marathon training,
You are slacking. Get. it. together.
Dear September,
Devin and I made a goal for your duration. It is much harder than we thought it would be.
Are you going to share the Latin baked chicken recipe?
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