I’ve been thinking how rare it is to get an actual letter in the mail. Now that we have the internet and facebook, no one writes letters anymore, and that’s too bad.
I’ve decided to spend my last couple days of vacation dropping some notes to some deserving individuals.
Dear Ivory Soap:
Can soap get dirty? Like if you are in a public shower at the gym, and you drop your washcloth on the floor obviously you are not going to pick it up and wash your face with it because, gross, cooties from the 37 people who showered before you are obviously all OVER that cloth, but if you drop the soap is it the same thing? Or should you just rinse it off and consider it clean again? I really need to know this.
Yours in Cleanliness,
Thank you for weakening my eyesight so that I can no longer see the deep wrinkles developing around my eyes and nose. You are a wise and benevolent God.
Dear Colonel Saunders:
I am writing to let you know that I have almost mentally recovered from the trauma of nearly being coated in 11 secret spices and deep fried back in 1986. You really are a sick bastard, you know that? And your friend, Purdue, also. Hell is reserving a special spot for the likes of you two sickos.
Revenge will be mine,
Happy Library Workers week. I hope they did something special for you like give you a t-shirt or a coffee mug or something. I think a t-shirt that says “Librarians do it Quietly” would be very becoming.
Dear New Boss:
One thing that you do not yet know about me is that I eat cheese and crackers every single day while sitting at my desk and it is seriously annoying to anyone sitting within 10 yards of me. It would be best if I had my own office. I like the one at the end with the big window. I know that is your office. But I’ve noticed you do not eat cheese and crackers or any other annoying things, so perhaps a different arrangement would work better for everyone involved.
In the spirit of proactiveness,
That symbol idea was really stupid. Seriously, a symbol that has no pronunciation for a name? What the hell were you thinking?
I know it looks as though I haven’t done a thing all day. The house is a mess, there’s no dinner on the table, and there’s a cheese rind and sleeve of crackers in the living room where we mutually agreed I would never eat again. What you don’t realize is that I had to spend the day hunkering down on the couch because the census workers were all out in the neighborhood and if I had been up and moving around working and stuff, they totally would have seen me and been all up in my grill about how you haven’t sent in the census survey yet.
Dear Mark Knopfler,
I’m coming to see you play and I am a big, big fan. Did you know I also play the guitar? I would be happy to do a number with you if you think it would be entertaining to your audience. Here’s my cell number (401) 555-1234. Text me.
Dear Professor D:
Thank you for teaching me that the possessive form of it has no apostrophe. You did me a solid.
Dear Emily Dickinson:
Hello. I am finally getting back to you. I hope you are doing well and are getting out once in awhile.
I think you are a very smart and progressive little boy to want to pee standing up, like the big boys. Just remember when you do it that you have to AIM littleb. Because Golden Showers are not things that nice little boys give.
When I said, “Do you want to spend the day together on Thursday” and you said “Yes” and I said, “OK, I’ll call you”, I meant this Thursday, as in today, as in why aren’t you home? Not some arbitrary, vague Thursday in the distant future when the planets that occupy your universe might be in alignment. Lunch tomorrow?
Remember that time when I was 17 and there was that funny looking plant on my window sill and you asked me if it was marijuana and I said I didn’t know? That someone had given me the seeds and I just planted them to see what would grow? You were totally right not to fall for that. I see now how unconvincing that story was. It is just as unconvincing as Teenager Who Lives in the Basements explanation of why he can never make it home on time for dinner. I just don’t really think there is a dead zone at his friend C’s house that makes his phone shut off and that they do not have clocks anywhere in their house. This seems far fetched, does it not? I thought you might enjoy knowing that all my duplicitous teenage actions have come home to roost. But that curse you placed on me (I hope someday you have children JUST like you) really turned out to be a kicker. Is there anything you can do about that, by the way? Is there an expiration date for that curse? Is it recyclable? Just wondering.