Dear Wine in a Box,

Just the thought of you tickles me pink. You were a free prize on Saturday nights spent at Silk Road Palace. Those friendly hosts kept the glasses of you coming, and when their backs were turned, we promptly poured you into our water bottles under the table. You were that good, we wanted to take you with us. There isn't much else to say other than I pass you in the liquor store with only regrets that I don't have room in the refrigerator and the personal capacity to drink you (I believe in moderation in all things, except laughing). We will meet again someday my love.
Remember, best served chilled.

Always refreshing,
Cindy Mayweather

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Dear "Fuck,"

Fuck. I love you. I love hearing you said. I love every version of you. I love that this sentence makes sense, "You fucking Fucks, fuck off!!!!!!" You are by far the sexiest swear word (and not just for the obvious reason). When I use you, even if I'm by myself, sitting alone in my car, just uttering you makes me feel better. Sometimes I scream you on the top of my lungs while I bang on things with my fists and a warm calming sensation comes over me after. How do you do that?
You even helped a dear friend of mine. She's this elderly woman who usually whispers you with a look of shame on her face. The other day I approached her and said, "Just go for it. Just say 'Fuck' a little louder and with some pride. I promise you'll feel better." So she tried it. And she tried it again. Then I did. Before you knew it we were just saying "Fuck. Fuck it. FUCK!!!!!!" for the fuck of it, and we were smiling and laughing. Fucking-A I loved that moment.
I know swearing might be frowned upon, but . . . I don't fucking care. If there is a God, then I hope these "sins" are on a sliding scale. For instance, I don't fucking kill people, I don't fuck people over in general in any area of my life, I don't fuck with people ever, I don't fuck people just to make myself feel better or just for the fuck of it, and I don't hurt people just to prove a fucking point. Oh, but I do think you are an adult word and I don't use you in front of little ears. I have self-control. So fuck, I fucking love you.
Sincerely,
Cindy Fucking Mayweather

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Dear Cowboy Boots,

We met today and I just don't think my life will ever be the same. My friend introduced us at the thrift store and my heart skipped a beat as my outstretched hand slid around your tan suede exterior. Tears of unbridled joy nearly fell from my eyes as I slipped my foot into your lined innards; as my heel locked into place I knew this was it--- the last piece to my puzzle.
A match made in second-hand, heart-ache Heaven. How anyone ever let you go, I'll never know. Serendipitous moments are hard to come by nowadays. But there you were, slightly battered and bruised, discarded for some "new" shoe fetish I suppose. There I was a lonely cynic searching for something I didn't really believe existed anymore. The amount on your tag spelled priceless.
We left the store together, you on my feet and as I stepped onto the cement I realized something that made me love you even more . . . your click. We clicked all the way down the street, a harmonious symphony of our love, a soundtrack to build our lives together. Look out world, these boots were made for walking.

Sincerely,
Cindy Mayweather

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