Dear Britany,

You made me love you even though I fought it for months. I didn't want to like you because my husband thought you were so hot but I thought you were beyond stupid and you chewed your fingernails. But the Southern bond between us could not be denied and I capitulated. The ups were wonderful and the downs were tolerable. Everyone knew your boobs were fake but I supported your decision to deny it with a straight face. Honey, we all knew you let Justin hit it long before he blew you up on Diane Sawyer, but I thought you might be one of *those* virgins so I did not pass judgement.

But it was not long before I realised this relationship did not come without sacrifice. You tested my patience when you and Justin showed up in the...dare I say it aloud...Jeansedo (head to toe denim, derivative of "Jeans" and "Tuxedo") but I forgave you. And then you betrayed me once again when you cheated on Justin and made him break up with you. I cried you a river that day.
The bond between us was tested once again when you married that big hulky boy, Jason Alexander, who looks as if his last name should be Munster. Thankfully, Mama intervened and put a stop to that.

Then these pictures of you and this...this...Playa started to emerge but I convinced myself it was only a phase. The details surrounding this foray into descent grew more and more disturbing: "girlfriend pregnant"..."backup dancer"..."cut off shorts"....No, wait! That was you.

Then the tabloids that are 'never right' said you would marry him and I feared for your sanity but I thought to myself, " its not like she is going to give her bridal party matching track suits". That would be bad, but you were just marrying him so I would make myself love him for your sake.

Then the pregnancy rumors started and I began to crumble beneath the weight of disillusionment. You could not procreate with this individual! The world was not ready for a combination of you, the Fedmiester and Chester Cheeto (girl..step away from the cheese curls..no more...your face looks like Braille...I'm just sayin').

And here we are today and I find myself hanging on by bloodied fingertips and I realize this relationship is not working for me anymore. At first I tried to admire you for doing your own thing and not listening to all of the negative comments, but you have gone too trailer for me and I am simply trying to rise above the stereotypes of Southerners. But you honey, are a C-R-I-T-T-E-R!

Let's See:

1. Barefoot in a Grocery Store? Check!
2. Oxy 10 and Trucker Hat? Check!
3. Trashy husband? Check!
4. Driving around with your baby in your lap? Check!

That's enough..I can't make myself go on like Celine does in that song (love her!). So now I choose to remember what we had and the way we were...coiffed, single and competent.