Open Letters:

From Me to Some of Everyone

In an open letter to the woman who tripped and unknowlingly dropped her baggie of weed,

“Um, I think you should have thanked me, especially since this is the one time in my life I’ve had a bag of pot in my hand.”

In an open letter to my period tracking app,

“Please do not ever again announce to the barista that I will soon be fertile. I don’t think he needed that information as I simply tried to pay for my drink using another app….”

In an open letter to the tattooed wrist and generous quantity of charm bracelets,

“What the fuck are you yelling for??

In an open letter to the man I danced with a couple ago fresh out of a 6 year relationship,

“I really wish I would have asked you to repeat yourself when you said whatever you said about knowing how to dance with black girls. Not knowing what you said haunts me a little. I also regret that your hands handled my waist.”

In an open letter to the senior citizen who just sidled up to me,

“Hi! So, if you see a lady waiting for her beer while reading, you don’t need to ask her if she likes to read. She likes to read.”

In an open letter to all the men in shades,

“I trust none of you.”

In an open letter to the suggested correction in Google that made me feel shame,

“Well, that was embarrassing. I mean, I know that I am not the first person out there to look for bare-chested photos of Peter Jennings. Why did you suggest that I wanted to see pictures of him smoking? Now, in addition to making me feel like a creepster, you’ve smoldered my fantasy a little bit.”

In an open letter to the grown ass man who asked me if I run track,

“So….if, considering my body type you think that I’m young enough to run track somewhere, it was probably ¬†on the shady side for you to try to engage me in conversation. It was definitely out of line when you suggested that you needed someone to work out with.”

In an open letter to her brain,

“You know the kind of guy that your friends think you shouldn’t hang out with? The kind that makes them demand a just-so-I-know-you-got-home-call? You are the brain equivalent of that; I don’t know if I should be left alone with you.”

In an open letter to the saxophonist from the Hall and Oates concert,

“You reminded me of both Bill Clinton and Dumbledore. This left me erotically confused.”