This letter is being sent on behalf of working mothers everywhere. Well, working mothers who have a crapload of stuff to do this month. And also mothers with kids who won't play by themselves. Or sleep. Or eat their vegetables.
But I digress!
Where were we, dear October? Ah yes. I hadn't gotten started yet. Anyways, as I was about to say before I rudely interrupted myself, it has come to my attention that we are already finished with seven out of your thirty-one days. I find this very disheartening. Because, to be frank, October...I love you. I always have. And I always will.
I want to go apple picking with you.
I want to go on a hayride with you.
I want to get lost in a corn maze with you.
I want to taste sweet, sweet candy corn with you.
But you are going by much too fast. Don't you understand that I have responsibilities? That I can't just drop everything for you, no matter how much I want to? Yes, I want more than anything to make this wreath. It's adorable, I admit it! And dammit - I'm dying to make those owl sugar cookies! And I don't even like nuts! And don't even go there, October. Don't you even bring up the mummy dogs. That's a low blow, even for you.
Oh, October. What are we going to do?
If only you would wait for me, my darling. Will you? Will you, please?
Well, FINE. I always thought November was cuter anyway.
A Much Too Busy Megan