We've known each other for a while now, so I feel there are some questions that I can ask you now, things I wouldn't have asked before we knew each other so well.
First, please explain to me why it is that when bread is served in your restaurants, there is exactly one more piece of bread than there are people at the table. Do you take some perverse pleasure in the scientific experiment which hypothesizes whether or not the extra piece of bread will be studiously ignored or if someone will be hoggish (just taking the extra piece) or if there will be some kind of caged death match over who gets the last piece. If I'm supposed to ignore it, I've failed that test. Three times now.
Also, why are so many of your people blond? Really. Where do you keep your pale-skinned dark-haired Irish ladies and pasty ginger-haired blokes? No matter how hard I try (and I did try for six years), this is not my tribe.
Is there some way you could see your way clear to turn the flowers off once in a while? That would be great.
How do you all get any work done with the OCEAN right outside? This morning we stood on our little balcony and watched a sea kayaker catching waves before the surfers came out to play. Then there were elephant seals to watch, and then the long winding ribbon of Highway 1. Seriously. Stop it already.
Why must all the things we love so much be here? Where we can't eat them. Or visit them. Or buy them at home. Some of our favorite people, fast food and discount organic groceries are here. Not fair, California. Not fair.
You're such a tease, California. Lift up your skirt a bit, show us some coastline and leave us panting for more. The word on the street is that first one is always free, but then you find yourself thinking, "Just one more trip to California. I know I've already been there once this year, but maybe some other bit this time."
California, I wish I knew how to quit you.