In an open letter to her cousin on his birthday,

“Happy Birthday! One day, one day, I hope to hang out with you, because if there is anyone who can out silly me, I suspect that it’s you. When that happens, I have got to try the gumbo you often talk about making. I’ve noticed you posting lots of words of wisdom lately, but refuse to believe that this means you’re getting old cause I’m right behind you. May this year be your best year!”

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In an open letter to Google,

“If someone, hypothetically, Googled Jefferson Davis’ sex life, why would you return results of confusion?”

In an open letter to a man whom I watched close his front door for an extended period of time,

“I noticed you because of your bright sweat shirt. Then I saw you close your door, and then lock it. Then you pulled at your door handle. Then you jiggled it. Then you repeated the jiggling. Then you tried to turn the handle. Then you jiggled it some more. Then you did some other things involving your hand, that handle, and harsh movements. You saw someone you know and greeted them moving away from the door. Then you returned to the door and resumed your vigorous door-checks. I watched you for the entire duration of the red light. I guess you just wanted to be sure….”

In an open letter to Mary Lincoln,

“Why are you calling out to me like this? You know that I am interested in the First Ladies primarily as the wives and hostesses of the presidents. I am not interested in them, you all, particularly as individuals. But you threaten my resolve. You are trying to suck me in? You had me Googling your name this evening as I struggled to look away….”

In an open letter to the thick-thighed woman wearing the sheerish gray animal print leggings,

“I have some questions for you. But, the one that stands out to me above all others is whether your red panties were uncomfortable. You see, they left approximately two and a half inches of your upper butt uncovered. You may have some questions for me, based on my penetrating observation, however, I’m more interested in your answers….”

In an open letter to the apple spice bagel dough proofing in the refrigerator,

“Don’t look at me like that, with your silent judgment. Your yeasty grin betrays that you think only a fool would contemplate making bagels on a Monday….”

In an open letter to the middle aged woman wearing thin stretch pants,

“It took me a minute to figure out what your backside reminded me of. It seemed so familiar and I couldn’t place it until it came to me all at once. Calf liver!!”

In an open letter to Richard Nixon,

“I didn’t mean to imagine you in the bathtub, and then to imagine you picking at a terry cloth robe. It just happened, and I couldn’t stop…”

In an open letter to the state of Iowa,

“Your pride in the president who hails from your state is evident because of the quantity of signs guiding folks to the related historical site. I like that.”

In an open letter to her son whose whips are looking more and more *ahem* realistic,

“Dude, I love your creativity and your increasing attention on craftmanship. However, you have got to stop leaving the whips that you make in my passenger seat in the car. It makes me look crazy. It’s not the possession of something that looks like it came from a fetish shop that makes a mom look crazy. It is the presence of said item visible on the passenger seat of a practical Honda….”