Heather Anne

Dear Vicks,

Listen, I just… I wanted to clear the air between us. A few days ago I said some things I didn’t mean. Like I said NyQuil was my enemy, and I threatened to register a domain to that effect. I’m sorry, Vicks, I really am. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Which wasn’t your fault. I wasn’t feeling well, and after a few days of not feeling well I am really not a pleasure. Emo Heather Anne is emo. I’m sorry if I hurt you.

The thing is: I’m a private person. Yes, I know. Blog Heather Anne is a private person. Haha. *snort* But I kinda am. I mean, yeah I blog. But in real life, I only talk about me if I really, really trust you. Like you could have a dinner with me for two hours or whatever, and you would leave thinking I was great and it was one of the best dinners ever, but that’s only because you talked about yourself for 120 straight minutes. I’m really good at that.

And Vicks, you? Just get inside me and I say EVERYTHING.

I know it’s not your fault that this stuff comes out of my mouth. My Dad used to have this picture called A Picture is Worth A Thousand Words hanging on his bathroom wall. It was… well it was a picture of a thousand words. And one of the sentences was: “Too much of the world is run on the theory that you don’t need road manners if you’re a ten ton truck.” And that, in a nutshell, is the problem with American foreign policy. Right? It’s like yeah, we’ve got nuclear…

Dammit. You made me do it again.

What I meant was one of the phrases was: “What is said when drunk has been thought out beforehand.”

So it’s not your fault that after I’d taken NyQuil I said, “Kids are so frikkin’ germy. Historians say the Bubonic Plague was started by rats, but I swear the outbreak was caused by toddlers.”

Obviously, that was something in my soul. And you just gave me the courage to say it.

Vicks, I love you. I do. I love that you make NyQuil dark green and DayQuil light orange so if I’m too sick to read I can just go by color. I love your new DayQuil cough syrup in Citrus Blend flavor. I love how when I swallow it, it feels as if a thousand tiny Cough Drop Fairies have broken free in my chest and are casting soothing charms on my weary throat and lungs. And, Vicks, your VapoRub? Every time it calls out to me, “Are you telling me you don’t want to GET - WITH - THIS?” I answer YES! I DO WANT TO GET WITH YOU! I am helpless against its charms.

Vicks, as you know, I am rather uncomfortable with the possessive nature of love. But I am willing to put aside my dislike for all things patriarchical because… I want to be your wife! And not your wife like how Cristina begrudgingly agreed to marry Dr. Burke. I really want to belong to you.

I’ve even started drafting my vows. What do you think?

I, Heather Anne, take you, Vicks, (and all your syrups and mentholated topical creams and ointments), to be my lawfully wedded OTC. I promise to love and to cherish you in sickness and in health (but mostly sickness), in weakness and in strength (but mostly weakness), for richer or poorer (even though you should probably give me free meds once we’re wed, which will make me richer. Plus Procter & Gamble owns you, so it’s not like you’re strapped for cash), forsaking all others (except the occasional prescription antibiotic), so long as we both shall live.

What d’ya say, Vicks? Be mine?

Yours,

Heather Anne