Tag Archives: letters i won’t send

Valentines I’ll Never Send

To the cliché box of assorted chocolates:

I’m have mixed feelings about you, to be honest. I’m not big on sweets to begin with, and unless there’s a map of your assortment on the lid, it’s always a gamble with you. There are really only three or four really good flavors which means that my anticipation of biting into a caramel or a chocolate cream could be met with the disappointment of sinking my teeth into the one filled with what I assume is neon pink Play-Doh.

If you so choose to continue to hide your best work, I will so choose to continue sticking a toothpick in the bottom of each piece to try and determine the flavor. All’s fair in love and chocolate.

To people who don’t say thank you when I hold the door open for them:

I will yell “You’re welcome!” as loud as I can because it’s important to lead by example. At least give a courtesy head nod. It’s really not that hard. I only bring this up because it could be an indication or a repeated behavior—not thanking people for letting you merge, walking by when people bless you after you sneeze, or as we’re talking about today, relationships.

 valentines

In other words, I’m a helper. YOU’RE WELCOME.

To the person who invented lasagna, pizza and basically any Italian food:

I hope at some point a very important person sat you down and told you, “You are a great human being.” True, I’ve been scorned by a lover a time or two by eating it too soon and burning the roof of my mouth, but love hurts. However, I can’t hold both a grudge and my fork, so today–I salute you.

To employment:

Okay. I know we’ve been taking a break, but I’m totally ready to hook back up again. I don’t want it to be boring, unhealthy and mundane like it was before, but I also don’t need fireworks every night. Something steady, something dependable, something that challenges me and uses my skills in a creative and constructive way. You have my number, so please, feel free to use it.

To the guy at the Dollar Store buying a felt rose, condoms and potted meat:

I’m not sure if I should be disgusted at this unique combination of purchases or admire you for your effort and optimism. The fake rose is admirable, but if you are in fact planning for a romantic evening with someone other than yourself—as your purchase of condoms instead of lotion and Kleenex would suggest—the addition of potted meat is quite troubling.

Putting aside the fact I only eat plants and would rather eat the metal pot than the “meat” your potted meat contains, the Dollar Store does offer a variety of other edible creations that might help to set a more “romantic” mood—canned oysters (aphrodisiac!) crackers or even a cupcake mix (chocolate!) might be a better solution.

And condoms from the Dollar Store? Remember that you get what you pay for, and take note of the woman behind me the other day who filled her cart with at-home pregnancy tests, ovulation kits and Cheetos. Sometimes you should spring for the upgraded model, my friend.

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More Letters I Probably Won’t Send

You can find the first installment here.

To Mr. Tech Support Guy on the Phone:

You asked if I had any more questions. Sorry if “Do you think I sound pretty?” wasn’t what you had in mind. Considering this conversation was recorded for training purposes, I suggest you review it and take notes on how to be a bit more specific with your language.


To Twitter and Facebook Suggestions:

I appreciate you looking out for me, but you’re greatly overestimating my desire to find more friends. If I haven’t “friended” someone after multiple suggestions, you can bet that it’s because I’m content not connecting with the creepy biology teacher from middle school or my bank. I’m also not interested in homeschooling the kids I don’t have or connecting with singles in my area.

And I will assume the suggestion that I should follow Mr. Peanut implies that I’m nuts, which to be honest, is probably not far from the truth. You nailed it with that one.


To Amateur Photographers:

Tis the season, fa la la, but the millionth close-up photo of Starbuck’s “red cup” has been taken, so it’s safe to move on to other things now. After all, it is just A RED CUP FROM STARBUCKS filled with overpriced hot liquid. We’re not talking about the golden ticket from Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory here, people.


To the Woman in Front of Me at the Checkout:

I enjoy pleasant conversation with strangers quite often, and our dialogue about the lazy person who left the bug spray in the candy next to the lane was a great way to pass the time. But apparently I have one of those faces that says, “Yes, tell me weird things that I probably shouldn’t be told” because the conversation took quite an odd turn.

The fact that your grandma—who was bitten by a scorpion and died, a fact brought up by the importance of bug spray—married her cousin seemed a little out of left field. But I would like to thank you for clarifying that it was actually “okay” and that you aren’t a product of inbreeding, despite—in your words, not mine—the lack of your back molars and motto of, “kill it and grill it.”

I appreciate you clearing that up.


To People Who Write Open Letters:

I get that you feel the Internet is the perfect passive-aggressive way to dispense your invaluable opinion on something, but it’s really not that effective. These letters usually start with the “Dear X,” greeting— often to a public personality—followed by the very expected takedown of said person you are writing the letter to, and/or what you feel is a highly controversial/unique opinion.

While stating this opinion to a recipient who will never read it, you often act like you’re just remembering additional complaints in the middle of your letter when we all know you have carefully planned when to say them. The letter often ends with your “knockout” point of contention and a “sincerely” before you sign off.

Here’s an idea. Why don’t you write a real letter to the person who has offended you?  Oh, yes. That’s because they couldn’t care less and are wiping their ass with their money.

Now I realize that this whole post is a form of an open letter, but I am under no delusions that you will write back or that my opinion will actually sway the collective “you” to see the error of your ways. And the other times that I wrote a semi-open letter, I just wanted my yoga pants and bra to feel happy in their new home.

Sincerely,

Abby

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