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Dear Pinterest,
In the seventh grade I had the unfortunate experience of learning that I could not sing.  It wasn't that I had great aspirations prior, but any dreams of singing outside of the shower died the moment that the sadist teacher in charge of chorus put my twelve year old, slow to physically develop, mullet-hair wearing self in the boys alto section. It was at this time that I realized that I had limitations.  I couldn't sing, I wasn't going to be a professional dancer, and I certainly wasn't going to be an artist.  The things I could not do could fill a book, and I have been just fine with the realization of my limitations for the past twenty odd years.

But then, you Pinterest, entered my life.  Approximately a year and a half ago.  And, I started having hope for things that I had previously laid to rest.  Like I could be a really good cook, a chef almost.  And, I could craft things out of left over kitchen tiles and dental floss.  And, my kids' rooms would look magazine picture worthy.  The opportunities for my hair and nails were endless and even though I don't hold a beauticians certification, I could pull these things off at my very own dining table.

For these aspirations, hopes and dreams, I say to you Pinterest: F.U.  I'll admit that I've made a few good cakes from recipes on your site and I made a really good chicken taco in the crock pot twice.  Beyond that though, Pinterest, I have been reminded almost weekly that I am an epic fucking failure.

Watermelon cake pops.  Sure I can do that I said.  Three dozen reddish turds on a stick later, I shoved them in the freezer and waited until everyone had a lot to drink before serving them.

Nor will I soon forget the facial mask made out of things in my pantry.  You know the one guaranteed to minimize my pores and smell citrusy?  Yeah that one, the one that made me look like a 3rd degree burn victim, and made me waste precious sea salt.

I could also bring up the beachy waves I tried to create with braids and a flat iron, but I don't have any Xanax left.

So to you, Pinterest, again I say FUCK YOU!  Before you came along, I knew what my limitations were, but you brought it up a notch.  You introduced me to things that I didn't even know I was bad at.   All I ask is that you leave me and my box made cakes, store bought cleaners, gifts, Vietnamese manicures and frizzy hair alone.  I'm better off not knowing what I don't know you vicious bitch.

Sincerely,
Kell