Dear Hurricane Hanna,
I just spent the last two hours packing every stitch of my summer wardrobe into a brand-new suitcase which I had to purchase on account of my old suitcase suddenly self-destructing in my closet.
I had the unusual forethought to make copies of my travel itinerary, passport information and last will and testament for my parents who will be watching the children in Hugh and my absence and I have written out a detailed schedule to which they may refer while we are away.
I gave myself a pedicure last night.
I have eaten nothing but fruits, vegetables and lean protein for the past week lest I bulge out of my bikini and offend other beach-goers (OK! THAT IS A LIE! I HAVE EATEN AN ENTIRE BAG OF PEANUT BUTTER M&M’S WHILST WORRYING MY HEAD OVER THE INEVITABLE FACT THAT YOU WILL HIT MIAMI ON WEDNESDAY, THUS TOTALLY SCREWING UP MY VACATION PLANS! ARE YOU HAPPY!?).
I have made the appropriate travel playlist for my iPod and have discovered the perfect book for beach reading; in short, I am ready to vacate.
Please, for the love of all that is holy, don’t screw up my plans. Go north, please; I hear it's really nice up there.
Also, my sanity kind of depends on you.
DO NOT LET ME DOWN.