Dear Adele,

I've had your songs on repeat for week now. This is getting a little ridiculous.

It all started with that NPR concert that I watched while feeding my procrastination habit last Sunday about this time.

This blog entry may or may not be feeding the same habit.

Your retro sound, your look, your charming personality...it hurts me deep inside. Your beats are so good they even get to my little baby girl. There she is on her tummy, propped up on her hands as she contemplates the possibility of someday crawling, and when I pump your jams she bobs her head back and forth right one cue. It's killer. Seriously.

THE. CUTEST. THING. EVAR.

So far I've restrained myself and only purchased three of your songs on iTunes: Rumour Has It, He Won't Go and *sigh* Someone Like You.

Oh, Someone Like You.

It's not enough that you have incredible timing and expression. You must taunt me with an alto range that almost perfectly matches my own. If, you know, mine was about 800 times cooler sounding. At least when I'm rocking out my Queen of the Night I don't have to think to myself, "This could be you. NOT."

Sincerely.