Monday, June 27, 2011

Letters I'd love to send

Dear God,

You are awesome and wonderful and all-knowing, so you should pretty much know that I'd really love a thunderstorm soon.

I'm not asking you to PROVE your omniscience by sending one, but figured calling you out on my wants might, well, get you to launch a token of your affection for me my way.

The butterfly bush asked me to ask you, BTW. You cannot turn down a thirsty Buddleia!



Hi guy in the car behind me today!

Gosh, you were following so close to me I thought we might be dating. I felt this odd attraction and repulsion thing going on, like you were this dude I went out with once in 1987 who was super good-looking but a total asshole that I was torn over whether to put up with his douchiness because of his gorgeousness or split and find a nice guy who wouldn't push the limits every dammmmmm second.

GITCBMT - it is not my fault there is a work truck ahead of me carrying 18 million pounds of rebar on a 1-ton truck. Is it also not my fault that the road crews are out paving. Also, it is not my fault that the flagmen have chosen today to fall asleep at the switch and abandon us to a 5-minute(the nerve!) stretch of time that we need to spend at a dead stop on the hot macadam of a North Carolina late June day.

Lastly, it is NOT my fault that my Jiminy, with his powerful 6 cylinders, can't immediately crank out a tire-squealing start from a dead stop once the flagman says 'go,' like it seems you wanted me to.

I had the A/C on. Priorities, man!

Sweetly, like arsenic,



Dear New Girl at Work.

I kind of hate your voice. Like, a lot. Like, I'm sure you are totally talented and smart and really really super awesome at your job (because hey, you have puh-LENTY of initials after your name), and I kind of adore your laugh, so thanks for that, but dang.

That voice.

It will not surprise you that I am not from the far nothern midwest, as I think you might be. It therefore should not surprise you that my people, the ones from The East Coast, do not understand why you do not use your chest cavity to resonate when you speak.

It's like your voice box is attached directly to your eyebrows.

I am not a fan.

Please, for me, laugh more (for hearing you laugh is like bathing in rainbows, so much is the adorable) and talk less. WAY less.

Love, your as-yet-to-be-met cubemate,



My dear family,

I love you.

To the under-21s, I love that you do the chores I ask to to within a reasonable time frame from when I ask it. I love that you do not overly complain about doing them. I love you for being mature and of such good humor.

To Biff - I love that you, on a day with nothing much calling your name, went out and got new bath mats. Seriously? What man does this? You rememberd I noted that the old ones were losing their grippiness, and fetched us a very nice pair that will not endanger our lives if we happen to need to run into the bathroom to take care of...things. Grippy bathmats are, it's clear, worthy of a love note.

When a gal comes home from work to find the dishes done, floors clean, chores complete, and new bathmats, it's enough to put a big ol' DB grin on her face.

Much love love love,

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