Damn, Avery...I never actually expected to put a letter to you in this compilation. I mean, you're Avery. You're my buddy. You try to hook me up with your friends and you try to get me to help you juggle three girlfriends. That's not usually considered attractive, by the way. If any of those girls knew about each other, they would pound you into smithereens.
I don't really know why I have a crush on you. You keep up with me, I guess. You get my obscure references, you keep up with my train of thought. You read the same books as I do, listen to the same music. I can't lie to you, and you can't lie to me. You could be either my best friend or my lover. My common sense says you're a playboy. You fall in love easily, but you fall out of love just as easily. And I don't operate that way. But my hormones are screaming at me to fall into your arms and just roll with it. Yes, common sense is winning.
Avery, Avery, Avery, I can't believe you sometimes. I told you about Alex once. I told you that he was my first love. Do you remember, my dear? And I remember what you said. "Did you sleep with him? You can't call him your first love unless he was your lover, too." And I got distracted and we bickered over the meaning of various phrases. It only proved to me that you know how to push my buttons.
Why do you look at me that way? Honestly, I find it distracting. Last night, in the middle of an argument, the worst we've ever had, I caught you looking at me. You looked ready to kiss me. If a friend of one of your girlfriends hadn't been there, I think you might have done it. I got distracted from the fight, you smiled, we compromised, we made up, and I found myself wondering if that's why girls love you. Because you treat us all like we're sexy and intelligent and amazing.
Speaking of sex, you keep trying to get rid of my sex appeal. "Pull up your top, your boobs are showing! Wear pants, you can't show off that much leg! If I ever see anything between your knees and collarbone ever again, I'm changing you myself!" I'm a priest's daughter, Avery. And I'm kind of renowned for dressing like a prude. AND you were the one who decided to cheerfully explain to me how the uniforms we wear are designed for easy concealment of erections. If you want to turn me on, there are better ways to do it. Ways that let me be sure of what you're thinking.
Frankly, at this point, I'm tempted to throw you off a bridge. However, my dear warrant officer, I like your mom too much to leave her without her baby. And no, you can't protest the title. I've seen you bounce around, screaming with joy that your "Mommy" is here. Considering that she's your only soft spot, it's kind of cute, Aves.