I'm choosing to let everyone in on some letters that I have composed. They are more like notes really, but they are every bit as meaningful as a longer letter to me...and I assume to my audience.
So- without further ado - open letters:
Dear Left Foot -
What's the problem? I mean, I know we've had our ups and downs (literally), but the pain is getting ridiculous. What are you trying to tell me? Are you broken? Sprained? Do you just need attention? I know that I favor the right side, but that's most just a hand thing. I love both you feet equally...although if you don't start behaving, I'm probably going to end up loving the right foot more.
I just feel like I give and give and get nothing in return. I bought you special insoles. I keep you elevated and rested and I've been giving you Advil. When is it my turn to reap some rewards. And by rewards I mean, just stop hurting every time I take a step. Is that really too much to ask?
I'll cut you off. Just ask my nose. I would do it out of spite. Shape up left foot. Be more like your brother, right foot.
-Rose
Dear Hair,
Hi! Long time no see. We've been together for a long time now, through thick and thin (no, mostly just thin) and for the most part we've done well together. But I can't keep supporting your lifestyle choices. I know that you don't get along well with humidity, but I fail to see how that is my problem. Why is it that you can't just lay flat, smooth and shiny? Why, at the first hint of rain, must you rise up to become frizzy and unmanageable?
I feel that I am pretty nice to you. I'm not like other girls I see with the dyeing and the constant blow-drying and curling and product placement. No, I'm fairly low maintenance. I wash you, I condition, sometimes I rinse and repeat. Yet, you choose to disobey. It hurts me, hair, it hurts me. I don't really like to threaten, but I see a hot iron in your future. I'll twist you around until you don't know what hit you. I'll spray you so full of hairspray that you'll never come undone. Do you hear me hair? Start dealing with the humidity constructively or you are going to be in for a world of hurt.
-Rose
Dear 11:15 Plaen View Bus Driver,
While I applaud your liberal use of the horn in traffic and your constant impatience- two qualities I, myself, posses- I would like to offer some light criticism. While I believe that getting me from point A to point B in the shortest possible time is commendable, I feel that some of your tactics on the road might be seen as dangerous. The tailgating of the cars in front of us on that curvy road. The near misses that we have with pedestrians in the cross walk. The sudden, swift starts and stops that we make.
Additionally, I'm not sure why you refuse to stop at the bus stop that is on the street corner of the street I live on. You always stop a street before that at a place that does not have a bus stop sign or really any meaningful marker. I'm not really criticizing. If that's your bag, ok, cool. It's just somewhat weird. And I'm also not really sure what happened today when the guy pulled the bell for my stop and you stopped early and then he told you that he wanted to go to the corner, but then got out anyway and then you pulled away so fast that I wasn't able to get out, so that I was forced down into the seat, even though I was sitting at the front and trying to exit. I mean, it worked out well for me because that guy was at the bus stop on my corner, so you had to stop and I did get out, but I'm just wondering why we have to play these games?
And in case by some strange coincidence of the universe, you read random blogs...I'm the tall, leggy, blond girl that rides your bus.
-Concerned Passenger
Dear Stranger in a Red Truck,
Hello, sir. I just wanted to drop you a quick note to see if you had accomplished everything you needed to today with your, "hey baby" comment that you hurled at me out your window as you drove by. Was that everything you thought it would be? Did it go ok? I'm not sure what the purpose was, but I hope that by cat-calling to me out your window you were able to feel a sense of accomplishment and joy.
Bless you,
Girl walking in a Big Gray Sweatshirt and Ill-fitting Black Pants
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