Dear Washington DC,

I’m writing to tell you that your weather sucks. It almost killed me. I spent three days drowning in my own sweat and no amount of deodorant could cover the eventual body odor that would overwhelm my senses and those around me.

I am so sweaty in this picture.

Then you kinda pulled a dick move. Just when everyone had peeled off their last bit of sweat soaked outer layers, you opened up the skies and rained. And I mean RAINED. People were running into the Smithsonian to buy five dollar plastic rain ponchos. Luckily for you, my beloved and I hail from the Pacific Northwest so all that rain was no big deal. And I found your dick move pretty funny in the end.

But it’s okay, because you are beautiful! My significant other at first bemoaned the fact that the grime and grit that you had twenty years ago was no longer. Instead you were sparkling perfection.

Still sweaty, but happy!

However, the lack of dirt is not what really made me love you. It’s the fact that your whole city is dedicated to honoring those who came before, who lost their lives, sacrificed everything, so idiots like me could travel and write about crappy weather and to live exactly as I want to.

God bless you DC, and I’m sorry for all the sweat.

Love, Kristen

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