Open Letters:

From Me to Some of Everyone

In the open letter to the man who rolled up beside me talkin’ ‘bout he’s going to make sure I get to my car safely,

“Um…. That didn’t make me feel safe….”

In an open letter to Lyndon Johnson’s ghost,

“I fear that I’ve neglected you too long and now you don’t come to me easily. I’d love to see you again. Soon.”

In an open letter to the other person who is reading in here,

“I can’t help but notice your book, glasses, mustache and ponytail. Oh and your little book of notes. I’m dying to know, what are you reading?”

In an open letter to whoever is farting up the joint,

“You got this place smelling like a gas station bathroom.”

In an open letter to the man next to me at the bar,

“How exactly did you hit my hip with your napkin? Twice.”

In an open letter to the white guy next to me trying to explain political correctness to his dining mates,

“Did you seriously just refer to Native Americans and make that noise…you know the one, gesture a headdress, AND say ‘you know, the one with the tipis’? Then, did you go into African American vs black? I’m thinking about accidentally spilling my drink on you. And I totally think you’re the silent farter.”

In an open letter to the men next to me at the bar,

“Your conversation is disturbing my reading…and I am good at ignoring background noise. And why are you talking about cavities, whether treatment can be postponed, and the spectre of extraction at an eating establishment?”

In an open letter to the man with a gray beard and a cap likely places to disguise his baldness.

“Why do I overhear you talking about taking the ACT? Wait, did I just hear you say PSAT?!?”

In an open letter to the stranger who joked about buying me a roofie colada,

“So about jokes that imply rape…not my favorite.”

In an open letter to the woman who clipped me on the way into the movie,

“I’m not surprised that you’re going to see A Bad Moms Christmas. Not surprised at all.”