Dear Sirs and/or Madams,
You sadistic bastards.
Do you dislike kids? What else could explain designing sleepwear that prolongs what newborns hate most: being exposed. I’m referring, of course, to the countless snaps you insist on sewing along every linear inch of your PJs.
Picture my son, a mellow kid by infant standards. Add to that image a clock reading 3 a.m. in a dimly lit room. I’m standing over him, having already struggled to lash a fresh diaper to his fetal form. To this I must add the exquisite torture of getting four dozen snaps snapped before he goes straight out of his precious little mind.
I swear, sometimes I’ve come this close to double-bagging him and letting him sail on, unchanged, till morning.
See, it turns out that what at first seems to be a pretty...
Lifestyle
Dear Sonicare Electric Toothbrush,
I admit, I was always skeptical of your much-heralded tooth-cleansing prowess. But when you arrived as a present from my father and he gave you such a glowing recommendation, I too was pulled into your vibrating web of deception. Perhaps I was lulled into complacency by your comforting hum. Or perhaps my confidence in you was inspired by the cool glow of your green charging light, or by your little pacer beeps, which told me, the ignorant human, when to switch tooth surfaces.
Regardless of the source of my falsely placed trust, today I found out I have two new cavities. Where were you when this was going on? What were you up to while you were in my mouth for two minutes three times a day? Obviously, you can’t be trusted with this level of...
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Dear Smart Puffs,
Today my autistic son emerged from his room and said, “Want some cheese puffs?” He means you, Smart Puffs. You are one of only two things he will eat, and he will eat no other brand of cheese puff. Don’t get a big head. This won’t be a love letter, Smart Puffs. It’s not that much of a compliment. You see the other thing my son eats is a very particular type of cookie made by a very particular brand as well. He doesn’t think you taste better than the other brands. He just won’t eat any other brand because they aren’t as familiar to him as you are. He just doesn’t want any surprises.
Anyway, today when he asked for you, Smart Puffs, I went into the cupboard where we usually keep about ten bags of you, along with about ten boxes of those cookies, and you weren’t there...
2,887
Dear Smart Puffs,
Today my autistic son emerged from his room and said, “Want some cheese puffs?” He means you, Smart Puffs. You are one of only two things he will eat, and he will eat no other brand of cheese puff. Don’t get a big head. This won’t be a love letter, Smart Puffs. It’s not that much of a compliment. You see the other thing my son eats is a very particular type of cookie made by a very particular brand as well. He doesn’t think you taste better than the other brands. He just won’t eat any other brand because they aren’t as familiar to him as you are. He just doesn’t want any surprises.
Anyway, today when he asked for you, Smart Puffs, I went into the cupboard where we usually keep about ten bags of you, along with about ten boxes of those cookies, and you weren’t there...
2,677
Dear Dreams,
Books, toothbrush, drown, raisin pie, leotards, cockadoodledoo, Napoleon, word pizza, blue, plaster of paris, twins, JK Rowling, recycling program, prohibition, motor yacht, hat box, Pier 1 Imports, gravy, bones, Victor/Victoria, bathroom, stapler, birth, crash, prom, senate, ceramic flowers, iodine.
That’s what it feels like, asshole.
Sincerely,
Marissa Rhines
2,792
Dear Libido,
Okay, so what’s up with you these days?
Everybody knows that women approaching menopause are supposed to have LOW libido. How come you’ve got me on fire, 24/7? Did you somehow not get the memo?
I’m perplexed, because for decades you and I have been on a predictable itinerary. You sparked to confusing but exhilarating life in adolescence. You RAN my life in my 20’s, prompting crazy escapades, the learning of the phrase “crab lice” in a foreign language, and several long-distance moves. You coasted along at cruising altitude in those early marital years, before the precipitous (yet commonplace) decline brought on by childbirth, breast-feeding, and the numb exhaustion of having a baby attached, koala-like, to my body 19 hours a day. At which point you scrammed, just...
3,101
Dear Last Pack of Camel Lights (Summer 2009),
When we first met, you were waiting for someone inside the basket of that street-side vendor in Del Sur, that woman selling Belmont Suaves and Pall Malls and counterfeit Havana cigars. Remember how we laughed about them afterward, your old friends? I was traveling abroad for a few months: not so young, not that impressionable, but riding a tailwind of iffy decision-making (cf. “Open Letter to my new REI Self-Cleaning, Pedal-Powered Camp Stove”). I’ve never told you this before, but I usually preferred to hand-roll my own cigarettes back in the States: something organic, something with rolling papers and cardboard tips, something that, from a vast distance behind a cloud through the eyes of a blind man, might possibly resemble exercise. But...
2,646
Dear Sir or Madam,
As my Islamic Humanities exam draws near and my nose finds itself buried deeper in your illustrated history than at any time previous, I feel the need to write you a few lines about said tome. I’m enamored of the content of your illustrated history of the Islamic world. Beautiful prose, informative insets, and interesting illustrations abound. I also appreciate your decision to create a cheaper paperback version for starving college students such as myself. I have but one issue with the book: Its smell.
My nose, buried, cannot help but report a strong petrochemical odor coming from the book’s binding. This is not the pleasing smell of a new book, nor is it the musty scent of an old one. It is something far more sinister. Its bouquet is 60 percent hospital and 30...
2,366
Dear Ms. Jordan,
My mother, an elementary-school librarian, gave me a copy of your book for Christmas. As an EMT working on Pittsburgh’s East Side, I was delighted to find an EMT-related text whose clear, straightforward prose style is accessible not only to children aged 8 to 10 but also to most emergency medical personnel. However, I’m afraid you may be giving your readers an inaccurate view of what EMTs really do. I’ve suggested a few minor changes that I hope you’ll consider for future editions.
Page 2: In the “Words to Know” section: “First aid squad—The people who are ready to help in an emergency.”
I understand there may be regional variations in terminology, but in Pennsylvania we refer to these groups as QRS, or Quick Response Services.
Page 5: “A man calls 911. His...
2,819
Dear Psychotic Dogs,
I think you may have noticed my affection for other animals—including my own dog—and wrongly assumed that it extended to your snarling, demented selves. But you couldn’t be more wrong; I utterly despise you both. Moreover, I’m astonished that you’re too obtuse to sense the waves of hatred that radiate from my person like heat from a Ben Franklin stove whenever you have the temerity to poke your noses at my crotch or stand there barking witlessly at me for no earthly reason.
I thought dogs were supposed to be sensitive to human emotions, but I guess that’s only normal dogs. Dogs afflicted with your particular brand of psychosis are stripped of empathy and possess only a predatory ability to sense fear or vulnerability, especially in children.
Which brings me...
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