My Dearest Quin,
As your homegirl and occasional babysitter, I owe you an apology. I’m sorry I called you by the wrong name.
For two months.
Personally, I think Gwen is a much sexier name even for a 2 year old but, making you cool is not my job.
I want you to know I didn’t do it on purpose. I really did think it was your name because you answered to it when we played fetch. “Go get it Gwen. Go get the cookie.”
And while this is meant to be an apology from me to you, I want you to know you’ve let me down as well. I thought a level-headed 2 year old such as yourself would speak up when something’s not right.
In the months I’ve known you, you never ceased to impress me. You know what you want, and you go after it. Cookie, kitty, dirt. And I admire that.
But that person I built you up to be vanished when you let me call you by the wrong name in front of your mother. And what’s worse is that you giggled and smiled your way through the whole thing. Keeping up the charade.
It sucks dude, we shared some good laughs over Dora the Explorer’s shitty haircut and her stupid Spanish accent. You taught me how to color within the lines and that Goldfish are only for eating.
So yeah, I’m sorry I called you by the wrong name. But I’m even more sorry you let me.
I hope we can come back from this Quin.
I miss your Goldfish.