In an open letter to the woman whom I didn’t tell that her maxi pad was hanging out of her pocket by a good two inches,

“I found myself thinking about you the other day and I was surprised to find that I still found it funny. You were there giving a presentation to the class with that telltale pink plastic betraying you against those navy blue corduroys. Had you been nicer, I probably would have told you. Had you been […]

In an open letter to her crankiest self,

“Listen, you have got to lay off on the taking things personally. You are in control of your reactions and you need to start acting like it. I think you need to get back into running, you Clydesdale. You could use some endorphins….”

In an open letter to a neighbor vacuuming near my bedtime,

“You thought this was going to be a nasty one, didn’t you. Actually, your vacuuming was liberating. Now, I’ll never again feel guilty when I hit the snooze button at 5:30 in the morning. We’re on different schedules and your bedtime vacuuming has illuminated that for me. Thanks!”

In an open letter to the giant burrito in front of me,

“The things that I’m going to do to you… Imagine yourself the subject of an R&B song. Not one of those cleaner ones of the past, one of those vulgar ones of today. You will be devoured. I’m not going to ask first. Good thing you’re an actual object and not a person.”