Chick Lit

Dear God,

Hi there. My name is Stacey. We were introduced -briefly- a while ago, so I don't think you'll remember me. I don't believe in you and I bet you don't believe in me back. Fair enough.

Only, you see, I really needed to talk to you right now, oh god. Nah, don't worry- I don't want to ask for money, love or a better job. I don't want to beg forgiveness for my sins. I enjoyed those; you betcha! My health is fine, too. Thanks for asking.

What I want, Oh God, is to say thank you. Thank you, OH GOD, thank you for making men, thank you OH GOD for making this man I have inside me right now, ripping me up into little tiny bits and throwing me all around like pink and yellow confetti. Thank you OH GOD for the Sun. It just went nova in my eyes, there. Thank you for the flowers raining down on me Oh God. And, oh, god, thank you for his hair, too. It smells so nice, it feels so soft, it feels so smooth. Thank you, god, for his skin, it tastes like caramel ice cream.

OK, mister, 'fess up now. He can't be real, this man. Nobody can create anyone that perfect. He's just a trick of the light, right? I'll flutter my eyelids -like so!- and he'll be gone.

But even if he is your little teensy weensy practical joke...well, still, thanks. I've really enjoyed it while it lasted. And you can tell those friends of yours -the ones with the beards? Tell them they're right after all: you are Great.

So long and no hard feelings, eh?

Mine, really
Stacey.