Dear Free Bitch,
Happy birthday you iconic diva, you! I tried to send you a card made with glitter glue, an egg, thong underwear, and spikes but the post office said it freaked them out and probably violated federal shipping regulations. But airport security must have told you that every time you've had to get yourself on a plane wearing your clothing, so I'm sure you understand.
Over the past year, you've done something pretty remarkable, if I may say. Why, I hardly even know where you are anymore! Or what you're wearing! Madonna's in one corner of my brain, Blue Ivy's in another, and you? Well, since you didn't walk the carpet at the Grammys (did Nicki Minaj bribe you? or was that something you did out of the kindness of your heart?) I've hardly been aware of you since your Thanksgiving Day special. (That was weird, by the way.) (What's also weird is how your parents opened a restaurant. I hope they're making you a cake just like this, but you know, more expensive-looking.)
But back to you: the feeling of missing you is pretty neat, I must admit. So, feel free to take a rest after your "Born This Way" tour. Go to the beach, maybe. Take your shoes off. Wear a coconut bra you've resisted embellishing with "stripper things," as you say. Liberate yourself of bodily discomfort this way! It's your birthday, and you deserve it.
So, HAPPY BIRTHDAY. The internet and blogs everywhere are forever grateful for you (and your fabulous stylist Nicola Formichetti).
Love this way,