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Dear Universe

Let me meet someone who will know how to handle me when I become a sweats-wearing, emotional lump. No matter how high I want to pull up my pants.

And please let them be prepared. And it wouldn't hurt if they(wrong pronoun I know) think I have a winning smile. Or if I think that they have a winning smile. Totally up to you. We can totally jam to the same songs.
Oldies but goodies. And hiphop. And Mongolian. And Tibetan.

And now the list has become unrealistic.
(Although I now know that the target population should be Asian and nearly thirty years old. Totally unhelpful.)


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