Dear little cough,
Remember last night when I vowed to get more sleep, like farmers and country folk? I like how you skewered my hubris at approximately 12:42 a.m., reminding me that I don't actually decide anything, really, about my own life.
Thank you for helping me live in reality,
Dear yesterday's second orange,
When I unpacked my lunch yesterday, there you were, second orange, along with the first orange and the Icelandic yogurt (peach) and the carrots. A redundant orange, packed in the first place because I forgot I already had an orange. Except for the fact that you stuck around for today's lunch, when you were precisely what I needed to go with today's Icelandic yogurt (spiced pear) and carrots.
Thank you for completing my lunch today, and thus being not redundant at all, but rather comme il faut,
Dear new sweater,
When I wore you today, you made me feel like a character in a French movie. Understated, perfectly fitted, very warm. That's you I'm talking about, sweater, although actually: me too. So thank you.
The matching scarf didn't hurt, either. Not one bit.
Thank you for waiting so quietly all day for my return. I sensed, when I lay down between the softest, coolest sheets in all of bedlinendom, that you knew I would need you, especially after all that after-midnight coughing.
And so, when my husband said, "Go to sleep," and I replied, "Maybe," you knew: you knew I would close my eyes in the gloaming for a half an hour, and I would be the better for it.
And I did, and I was,