Dear Future Roomy,
I always carry a pen in my pocket. I don’t know if I believe in God, but I believe in the cosmic force of love. I watch I Love Lucy reruns when I’m upset. Chocolate is my obsession, my “péché migon.” I listen to quiet chatter and music without lyrics when I’m trying to focus. I am far from a picky eater, but I cannot stand ketchup or licorice. Watching Gilmore Girls religiously for five years taught me that life is too short to talk slowly enough for people to understand you.
I find the world hilarious. Making it easy for people to laugh with me is my goal. I ogle over Ducky from Pretty in Pink with my best friend every time I need a reminder that not all boys are scum. I want to walk down the aisle holding a bouquet of stargazer lilies, as my mom did before me, and I lose myself in Degas’ “L’étoile” every so often. Burt’s Bees honey lip balm reminds me of my childhood Winnie-the-Pooh scratch-and-sniff book. Every cup of Constant Comment tea, pair of jeans that fits perfectly, night spent listening to rain hit the roof, and run through damp grass with bare feet reminds me that life is beautiful.
Once, I ate so much pineapple I burned the lining of my mouth. I cried the first time I heard “Save Us” by Cartel and saw the ending of Cyrano de Bergerac in French. I am going to marry the genius who invented cinnamon brown sugar Pop Tarts. Everyday, when I leave the house, I blow a kiss to the picture of Walter Payton my dad hung above the doorway to our garage. When on vacation, my family and I buy pastries and coffee and walk in front of a jewelry store, attempting to recreate the scene from Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

Life should be a little crazy most of the time. I may seem difficult to live with, but I’ve shared a room with my little sister for fifteen years, and she only hates me sixty-three percent of the time. I hope that you are up for a few good laughs and an extraordinary year.
Love,
Kirsten