It's really difficult to address this letter to you, considering the fact that I have such mixed emotions about you.
Don't get me wrong, the last thing I would ever want for Amy is to put her through sniffy coughy sinusy heckandgone. But there has been this whole senior, double major, exhausty thing going on as well. I really don't like you, Amy's cold, but I have to give credit where credit's due--out of all of us, you were the only one who could get her to stay in bed and force her to relax. I'm very confused on my opinions of you. You're a sly one, Amy's cold.
But just because the end only kind of justifies the means doesn't excuse your rude behavior. Amy's got it bad enough, what with her schedule that could be compared to a homicidal calender slicing up free time with its "from da' hood" busyness switch blade (ya like that analogy, head cold? do ya? do ya?). Not to mention that her computer screen's gone all angsty eyeliner-y adolescent on us and won't work because it thinks nobody understands it (which is partly true. I'm not a I.T. expert, after all). But you have to pour it on thick what with all the annoying necessity for kleenexes, chugging of fuzzy headed medicine, and extended desire to Twitter (not that that's a bad thing, persay). As cool as it is to have your mommy tuck you in and make you soup when you're in college and make you feel all snuggly inside, we can't be sitting here making our parents worry all the time and have them at risk for possible cardiovascular problematics. Clearly you didn't think this through, Amy's head cold.
Luckily for you I have an endless amount of green tea and Neti Pot packets, and the best sick blanket on this entire planet. Plus, Amy has really cool roommates who help her make marshmallow weddings. You have not won, sir.
As cordially as I can allow myself,
Melinda
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