Dear Sparky

Dear Sparky,

I don't know how you do it.

Every day you are bombarded with girly things and womanly ways. You are drowning in pink, delicate, fluffy stuff. Toile has taken over our home and cute pumpkins light the night instead of scary skeletons. Floral rugs are scattered everywhere and delicate lace curtains hang from the windows. Mascara, curling irons, hairspray, lavendar spray, body wash, and soap fill the bathroom along with white and pink fluffy scrubbies. Rasberry scented shampoo, coconut scented conditioner nestle in our pink, black and white toile (!) bathroom. Paris themed signs and symbols are in every nook and cranny of the bedroom. Delicate glass cake stands and vases fill the diningroom. But as if that weren't enough - you have to put up with every freakin' emotional outburst, doubting, crying jag, guilt ridden, crazy-eyed, hair-brained scheme or mood we are in.

God, I love you.

If it helps, I can make Little L start smoking cigars and fill the fridge with beer (that you won't drink) and I MIGHT be able to burp (no promises) and maybe I can get a deer head and put it over the tv (but we would have to move the delicate scroll that hangs there now).

I guess you are REALLY looking forward to a grandson right about now, huh? It's probably God's way of rewarding you for eating from plates with shamrocks on them and washing our underwear all of these years.