I hope this letter finds you well, not just because I care about your well-being, but because I have sent it via passenger pigeon and the last I heard was its car broke down and it was taking a taxi to Maryland. Yes, a taxi. Not an Uber. Have you ever heard of a passenger pigeon in an Uber? Exactly! So, taxi it was!
If this letter has landed in someone else’s hands, today is your lucky day.
Meghan, how’s life? Don’t answer that. It’s an awful question that people our age hate. Instead, I’ll ask you how your ankle is doing. Any improvement from the other day? I hope it’s well and not swell-ing up. Bad joke. I’ll move on.
I want to tell you something you probably don’t know.
You have actually written me a letter before. Do you remember it? You probably don’t.
I was doing some research and found that the first time you ever commented on my blog was April 20, 2015. The first sentence you wrote was, “I love this.” I won’t bore you with the rest of the comment because why should I be expected to provide context?
You’re probably thinking, “Paul, you just told me I wrote you a letter and then didn’t address it. Wassup wit dat?” Well, hold on. I’m getting to it!
The second comment you ever left on my blog was six days later. It was a letter. A brief letter, but a letter nonetheless.
You’re awesome eh?! Just kidding I’m not from Canada. See I tried to make a joke there too because of your last post. YA?! Errr no? Anyways…. Your blog is wonderful and I’m waiting on my share of the pizza.
I like how you signed the letter with just your first initial. I’m sorry it’s taken me over a year to properly reply with a message that starts with “Dear Meghan”, but hey, better late than never.
I want to talk about food, but before I get to it I have a story for you.
I went for a walk the other day…well it wasn’t really a walk. It was a walk to get food. Does that still count as a walk? A walk is supposed to be for physical activity but if I’m only doing it so I can put food in my stomach, does that really count?
I’m going to assume you said “Yes”.
Anyways, I was out on my walk and what do I see? Joggers. Where? EVERYWHERE, MEGHAN. EVERY FREAKIN’ WHERE.
Joggers to the left of me, joggers to the right, and there I was stuck in the middle
It was as if they all looked out their windows at the same time, saw a walker, and decided to ambush me and make me feel guilty for not running. It was a nightmare.
I wanted to scream, “Slow and steady wins the race” but I didn’t want to tell them the finish line was a fast food restaurant or else they’d probably put me in a straitjacket and throw me on a treadmill. That would’ve made for a good blog post, but terrible for my calves.
Needless to say, walking on the sidewalk is not as innocent as it used to be. Walking quickly didn’t even earn me brownie points. Mmm brownies.
Speaking of brownies, I’m sorry if you find some brown smudges on this paper. It’s chocolate. Or, it used to be. So if Bridget is currently sniffing the letter like it’s a bomb threat, now you know why.
You recently heard that I’ve never had a taco before and based on your tone, you weren’t too happy with me about it. I’m sorry. I’ll do better next time. But what is it about tacos that are so appealing? I’ve been staring at pictures on Google for at least 13 seconds and not once has an ounce of saliva dripped anywhere.
What am I doing wrong? Do I need to turn my head? Do I need to smell it? Do I need to feel a taco? I’m at a loss. I just hope you can accept me for who I am, despite the foods I don’t eat.
I should really start to end this letter. The sun is going down and daylight won’t be on my side much longer.
Yes, I know I can turn on a light, but I want to give this letter a 1930s feel. I just made that decision now. So just assume that the 1930s were full of snobby joggers who made walkers feel inferior.
You asked me if I could visit any city in the U.S., where would I go. I’d obviously go to Maryland to see you and your dog, Bridget!
I felt like I had to say that, or else I’d get a wrath. Am I correct in assuming that?
But to seriously answer the question, I don’t really have a specific destination in my head that I’m telling myself I need to go to. If anything, I’d go to a city that is a neutral location for a bunch of bloggers to meet each other and hang out at a restaurant and eat pasta and garlic bread with, while making too much noise for the staff to handle.
That would be fun, wouldn’t it? Then we can get pizza for dessert.
Well, I better go. That darn daylight isn’t my friend today. which means it’s time to get sappy for a second.
I’m thankful we’re friends. Nay, I’m thankful we’ve proclaimed ourselves as Blog Best Friends For Life. It’s pretty cool knowing there’s someone in a different country who was born the same year I was. (Yeah, you read that correctly). I never would’ve thought that would be the case.
But seriously, you’re awesome. Stay cool. Stay funny. Stay yourself. That’s the only person you can be. I wish you nothing but the best at concerts, in long lines, and in life. You’ll eventually get to the front of all three.
With love, peace, and Canada Geese,