Dear Seattle,

Dear Seattle,

Although I do appreciate your glorious views and steamy lattes, I’ve grown weary of our relationship.

First of all, I cannot tolerate your mood swings anymore. I wake up with sunlight streaming through my bedroom window and by the time I take my dog outside, you’re crying all over me and my bathrobe. Get a grip, at least for a couple minutes so I can walk the poor beast.

Another thing, why must we have so many hipsters? I understand that music is the culture here, but are jagged hair styles and tight jeans also mandatory? If I see another snowflake sweater or ironic t-shirt picked so carefully (and so obviously) from the bins at Goodwill, I might puke. Please bring back regular people.

I know I’m new to this relationship, but we can try to improve things? No more whining about Starbucks, I’ve heard enough already. And I need some transportation to get around – the bus just plain sucks. You brag so much about being eco-friendly, so where is the train?

I confess, I’m not the easiest pePublish Postrson to get along with. I don’t always clean up after the dog. Sometimes I shuffle around in my pockets and lean over him, pretending to pick up his nasty little pile. I might be disgusting, but when I’m out of baggies a visual imitation of poo pickup is the best I can do. You should know these passive-aggressive tendencies well – I learned them from you.

Don’t take it too hard Seattle. Most days, I love you for letting me spend hours on the beach – laptop in tow. I admire your cliffs, curves, and lowlands. I love that you accept me even (no especially) when I’m wearing glasses. I love that you’re sexy and smart and that you aren’t San Francisco or Vancouver.

Seattle, I’ve decided to stay.