I’m not typically one of those girls who writes love letters. I like to write, but this form of writing makes me a little uncomfortable. It requires you to be vulnerable, to put a type of trust in others that makes your connection deeper and more meaningful. This letter is more like a confession to the love of my life; no matter what happened in the past or what will happen in the future, I promise to stay by them and love them through any obstacle that may come between us. Through rich or poor, in sickness and in health, I vow to love you through it all. Alright, here it goes.

Dear french fries,

I love you with all of my heart.

I know that some of you are saltier than others, but that’s OK. The love we share will never be diminished by the flame that makes you crisper. I can’t remember when I first started loving you, but my life has been changed because of you. I now order french fries with every meal. Chocolate chip pancakes at 7 a.m.? French fries. Hot fudge ice cream in a waffle cone? French fries. Even late night spaghetti with meatballs calls for french fires. Well, maybe curly fries would be a better option, but hey, it’s still in the family!

I remember when I ate the best french fries I had ever had in my life. My roommate and I had dedicated our summer to hunting for the best tasting french fries on the planet. After many weeks of tireless efforts, my roommate had found them.

I vividly recall her bursting into the door of our room almost out of breath to tell me she had found the place with the best tasting french fries. The drive was far and it would probably take most of the day to get there, but it was worth it. We decided that we would get a good night's rest and start our journey the next day.

We hopped into the car, ready for our next adventure until, suddenly, we hit Chicago traffic. Our journey was about to take much longer than expected. As my roommate and I willed the turtle-paced cars to move just a hair faster, we dreamt about what the french fries would taste like.

After hours of sitting with our mouths watering, we made it. We made it to the promised land. I stepped up, credit card in hand, ready to place my order for the best tasting french fries on the planet. But then I heard the most heart-breaking words known to man.

“I’m sorry miss, we are out of french fries.”

Devastated, I sat down with tears in my eyes, trying to figure out what went wrong. Had I angered the french fry gods? Had I waited too long to make my pilgrimage? Were they absolutely sure they didn’t have any french fries in the back?

My roommate sat across from me, trying to comfort me saying, "We’ll come back again," "I’m sure they didn’t know how important this was to you" and "Do you want me to go beat up the old guy and take his french fries?"

I knew she was trying to help, but it just made things worse. I had failed the one, true love of my life.

Then, the unbelievable happened.

“Here, I had one last plate in the back, and I thought you might want it,” the waiter said with a wink. I’m usually never speechless, but this time, I didn’t have the words to speak. My dream had come true. My life was complete.

So, thank you, french fries. Thank you for unconditionally loving me through finals weeks, heartbreaks and long nights. I promise to love you with all my heart for the rest of my life.