“Listen, I know you’re trying to squeeze it all in, but trying to change your clothes as you drove from picking up your son to your exercise was a bad move. You deserved to be tangled and exposed at the wheel. But, I do have to say that your resolve to look directly forward and […]
Author: sherlonya
In an open letter to the book on the Civil War I’m reading,
I’ve longed all day to be near you again. Tonight as I lay in bed, I depend on you to fill me with your stories.”
In an open letter to the man who held the door for me today,
“It was nice of you to hold the door. But if you’re going to use it as an opportunity to take a long, lingering look at my butt as I walk through the door, you need to work on your timing. Had you delayed your staring for about 5 more seconds, I wouldn’t have seen […]
In an open letter to the Joe Biden lookalike she saw this week,
“You were driving behind me. I noticed you in my rear view mirror. As I stared at you, I think that you felt the heat of my gaze. I think it made you uncomfortable. That is the most sympathetic reason I can use to justify the way that you began to attack your nose. Your […]
In an open letter to the dad who wasn’t watching his kids very well in the restaurant,
“If you would have been paying closer attention, you would have seen your son digging deep between his flip-flopped toes. Wait…now I understand…you didn’t want to see that. You, sir, are a pro….”
In an open letter to the woman at the gym with the very interestingly shaped butt,
“Ma’am, I would never have noticed the shape/s of your rump had you not used the toilet, then proceeded toward the pool without washing your hands. At least you flushed.”
In an open letter to Michael MacDonald,
“Today I tried to describe your voice to my son. I told him that you sound like warm, crumbly, buttery cookies. I successfully managed not to drool. However, he still looked quite horrified. I suppose that the pleasure of your voice is the sort of thing a Mama has got to enjoy on her own….”
In an open letter to the bicyclist who rode down the street with a swath of exposed buttocks,
“I suppose that this is no one’s fault, specifically, but I have been unable to stop thinking about cinnamon rolls since I saw you pedaling the other day. You see, the soft-looking flesh that I saw reminded me of this particular morning treat. It was like the second dough rising when the smooth buns rise […]
In an open letter to her body,
“You woke me up cause you’re hungry? At two-o-clock in the morning? Couldn’t you just have cannibalized some thigh meat or something? Not nice, body, not nice.”
In an open letter to the computer that turns on inconsistently,
“I thought you ate my novel. I’m glad that you didn’t eat my novel. Thanks for the chance to back it up!”