You know I'm from Colorado, right? My parents were from the east coast and ran away so I could grow up on skis. I'm four-years-old when my Dad and I climb the ladder to the summit of our ranch house. He straps the red-plastic sheets to my moon boots while I clutch the chimney. I look down and see where he shaped the thick blizzard into a ramp that meets the house. "Learn Confidence!!" he screams as he pushes me off the roof.

I fly and fall and giggle with delight, proving I'm a true Colorado Boy. However, I like my eastern grandparents, so when college comes, I move back.

But now, dear Stephanie, I'm very interested in your services. These Connecticut squirrels are driving me insane with their endless nutmegging, and from my understanding my furry body won't be such a source of ridicule once I cross the Mississippi. I'm a monowaterpiker, so that won't be an issue.

I do fear once I'm back I'll probably start biting my family. I'll know it's a sign of love, but they're not used to my playful ways. So maybe I should stay put. Trader Joe's is right down the street, after all.