To Whoever Needs To Hear This,
I don’t know your name (yet!), so I capitalize the salutation to solidify your importance to me already. You are my We-Could-Be-Friends Friend and this letter is a warm welcome to you.
Welcome, My Friend. You might have to knock on my door three times and ring the doorbell, too, but I will eventually hear you over the screams of my children and come running for ya.
Welcome, My Friend. I might be without a bra and in mismatched pajamas at 4 pm, but I would still let you in, despite the look of horror on both of our faces.
Welcome, My Friend. You might take only two steps inside the house before kids are clinging to your legs and asking you to play dollies. Don’t worry - I’ll tell them to give you a minute before demanding playtime.
Welcome, My Friend. I will definitely offer you coffee and tea and if you drink neither of these things I will think it’s strange. Luckily, my judgement will pass and I will create a sense of coziness by lighting a candle or offering you a blanket instead.
Welcome, My Friend. If you’d like, we can chat. If you want, we can sit in silence. Either way, we will get interrupted - especially if you haven’t played dollies yet.
Welcome, My Friend. You’ll likely have to use the bathroom and, my apologies, there are probably dribbles on the seat and maybe even remnants in the toilet. We work really hard to enforce societal norms around here, but when I’m braless in daytime pajamas, it’s trickier to mandate.
Welcome, My Friend. My fridge is empty...how do you feel about cereal? Maybe you’d be more interested in a spoonful of peanut butter? We probably have chips….
Eventually you’ll decide it’s time to go and, after all that I’ve put you through, I’m not sure that you’ll come back.
But the point is that you can.
Your We-Could-Be-Friends Friend