Open Letters:

From Me to Some of Everyone

In an open letter to the better angels of my nature,

“Please help me avoid asking that man if he dyes his very thick, very dark mustache.”

In an open letter to the semi well-built, aging man lovingly gripping his lady’s sidemeat,

“My voyeuristic eye zoomed in on this public intimacy. Now, I am fixated on your dirty fingernails.”

In an open letter to the nearby oversharer,

“I’m having a hard time reconciling the tightness of your ponytail with the looseness of your lips.”

In an open letter to the other bicyclist in a denim mini,

“You are cramping my style.”

In an open letter to my son who reminds me that teenagers are savage,

“Did you seriously say that you wouldn’t have carded that woman based on her arms alone?”

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.”