Open Letters:

From Me to Some of Everyone

In an open letter to Joe Biden,

“I need you more now than I have ever needed you. Can you visit me tonight while I sleep, you know, in my dreams? You can do whatever you want. You can read legislation verbatim. Bring Jill, brush her hair. Anything. You might be the only thing that can stop me from having another dream where I sexually harass the current president-elect and get told off be a lecture hall full of voyeurs. Please help if you can.”

In an open letter to the man in the fancy bagel shop wearing black jeans, a light denim jacket with a prominent leather label, and very messy and swoopy hair,

“Bold choices, sir, bold choices. Way to do you, though. Way to do you.”

In an open letter to the notes app,

“Thanks to you, I can remember the open letters that come to me when I am out in the world gawking at innocent people who are out there just trying to live.”

In an open letter to a long-neglected website,

“Funny thing is that I’ve pretty much ignored you for a couple months. Then, I had a technical problem, and now all I want to do is login.”

In an open letter to George Wallace,

“Recent events have piqued my interest in your story. Please do not interpret this as an opportunity to haunt my dreams. Thanks in advance!”

In an open letter to the coat-less woman who whizzed by me on a scooter on a cold, cold day,

“This seemed like a fashion choice. I’m wondering, though if that 3 inches of exposed upper butt was also a fashion choice. My real question, though, is wasn’t that cold? You had both low temperatures and the wind you created going at that bare skin.”

In an open letter to the woman in Whole Foods who caught me and my son laughing at her,

“It’s just that you were behaving like a child and it was just so silly. We couldn’t help it.”

In an open letter to the woman behind me in the Starbucks line,

“Why are you so close?”

In an open letter to her mind,

“There is no need to mix BBD songs and those from the Hamilton soundtrack. If you must, I mean really must, ‘Do Me Baby’ should be mashed up with ‘Guns and Ships.’ Nothing else. That said, I think that this is an unnecessary pairing.”

In an open letter to the loud man in a suit who sat in his seat at the restaurant with his legs pretzeled up like an elementary school student,

“Dude! Sir. Whatever. A rape joke? Seriously?”