Dearest Car of Mine;
I know you're getting older. Aren't we all.
But this whole "I'm going to be tempermental if it's raining" thing has gotta end. And the "waaaaaah, I need new rear brake pads, rotors and calipers, pleeeeeeeeeeease" whine is getting old, as well as annoying to my neighbors.
Just because you're fourteen doesn't mean you have to act like a teenager, you know.
I appreciate your having waited until I got my tax refund back before digging in your heels and refusing to start. Thank you for allowing me the brief illusion that I actually was making some progress on my ever-heightening pile of bills.
The Chick What Just Spent $800 on You
Dearest Stomach of Mine;
WTF? Stop getting bigger.
You are not housing a baby; merely a double cheeseburger and a handful of fries.
Enjoy it now, buddy; for tomorrow we shall fast.
She Whose Jeans Are Too Tight
Dearest Amazon Gold Box of Mine;
Your Beyotch Mesmerized Shopper