I've Got Some Letters To Write!

Dear Knee,

I feel that since we've known each other for so long, I can be frank.  What the hell is your problem?  We've gotten along so well, and then, out of nowhere, you decide to act up?  Seriously!  If you were one of my ankles, I'd understand.  They never do what I tell them (especially when dancing wildly, walking down stairs, or getting out of cars), but you...you...I counted on you!  Was it something I said?  To the best of my knowledge, I've been nothing but sugar to you (even if I eat a little too much of it myself).  If I did say something, then all I can say is, I'm sorry...I was drunk.

Now, you need to stop this whining and get back into the game.  We begin triathlon training this week, and I need you to be front and center.  I have a record to beat, and I plan to be just as fast as the 77-year-old, rather than 45 minutes behind him.

Cool?

Non-Athletic Triathlete

 

Dear Bacardi Frozen Margarita Mix,

I have a few questions for you.  First, is your expiration date something I should adhere to, or is it merely a suggestion?  I'm hoping it's a suggestion since I chose to use you in my margaritas even though you expired 2 years ago.  Should I not wake up in the morning, we'll all know why.  My second question is regarding your instructions.  According to the "can", I should add Rum to the mixture.  Now I could be mistaken (since I'm not a professional mixologist), but aren't margaritas made with tequila?  Last I checked the agave elixir cornered the market on margaritas, while rum had a hold on dacquiris, mojitos, and a variety of other frosty beverages.  While I'm asking questions, I wonder if you can tell me if tequila expires as well--specifically if really, really cheap tequila expires.  I know this isn't your realm (especially since you advised against the use of tequila and favored Bacardi Rum), but I thought you might have an opinion.

Well, that's all.  I just thought I'd check in with you.  The margaritas are on the wrong side of delicious, so I probably won't put my health at risk for too much longer.

Sincerely,

Lone Drinker

 

Dear Blender,

Tonight I finally used you for the first time since I purchased you as a gift to myself for my 27th birthday.  At the time of purchase, I truly believed that I would entertain people in my home (which is why I also purchased a variety of glasses that are currently on display in my cabinet).  Sadly, that never really happened for a multitude of reasons, starting with the fact that I'm secretly slovenly.  At any rate, I wanted to let you know that you did a great job on those margaritas.  Don't be sad that I just threw all of it out.  It had nothing to do with you.  The ingredients were some kind of awful, so I didn't want to subject myself to the torture any longer.  Who knows when I'll use you again, since I've never cozied up with the idea of drinking smoothies, so I hope you enjoy your time in the cabinet next to the chopper I also purchased for my 27th birthday (and have used one time).

Your pal,

Drinker of lukewarm beverages

 

Dear Local Taqueria,

What exactly are you putting in your mediocre food that has such a strong grip on me?  Seriously.  It's not that good.  My favorite place requires a short drive (or a long walk), so I really think convenience leads me to your door--that and, your food is really cheap.  I might be a little more on board with your taste sensations if your guacamole were less liquidy and more avacado-y.  I suppose if that is my only gripe you can't be that bad, but you really are.  Please don't allow me to come back into your establishment.  I no longer want to subject my gullet to sub-standard food...even if I secretly love it.  In fact, I'm writing a letter to my paunch regarding this very issue, so you really shouldn't count on getting anymore of my dollars.  Pepperidge Farms will be hearing from me as well, because, as of tomorrow, their goldfish crackers are dead to me.

Keep up the good work!

Mexican Food Aficionado

 

Dear Jeans Designers,

Who, exactly, are your fit models, and are their waists really that close to their pelvic bones?  I endured yet another frustrating day attempting to find a decent pair of jeans, and I'm really getting tired of this process.  I'm not asking you to flood the market with "mom" jeans, but, at least, recognize that not everyone wants their ass hanging out for all the world to see.  Hell, I'm not so keen on having my flesh pooch out (or see anyone else's fleshy hips bubble over their pants for that matter), but I do understand that you have your reasons.  I just feel like you could add, I don't know, one inch of fabric, so I don't have to walk around with a coin slot (cuz nobody wants what that vending machine is serving). 

Now, some of you have figured out that when making jeans for people that may need to "whittle their middle", you shouldn't pretend that their hips are actually their waist.  Because, when you do that (and you better be listening DKNY), you create an enormous, flabby doughnut between two waists.  There is absolutely nothing attractive about that.  So, to those of you that keep the top of the jeans straight when they are meant to hang at your hips (which is typically the largest part of the female form), I say thank you.  Also, to those of you that realize that some people actually have a little junk in the trunk, thank you for allowing some room for that.  I'm not a fan of my back fat, and I certainly don't want to subject the world to it (especially when my jeans are making a mountain out of a mole hill).  I realize that I could stand to lose a pound or ten, but until I do, I need a pair of jeans to wear that actually look flattering.  And by flattering, I don't mean that after trying on 20 pairs of ill-fitting jeans, I'm suddenly smitten with the ugly old pair I already own.  I just want to look good, okay?  Do you think you can help me out with that?

Warmest Regards,

Bootcut jeans enthusiast

 

Dear Blubber,

Consider this your final warning.  I know I told you that my campaign to rid my body of you began two weeks ago (Friday's delicious meal of polish food was totally unexpected), but I mean business now.  I didn't invite you to be a hanger-on, yet here you are.  I suppose you could argue that I left the door slightly ajar when I ate all that pizza, but I certainly didn't intend for you to be such an eager beaver.  Go away.  I've already informed the taqueria and a few snack foods that our relationship is over, so you may as well wander over to someone else because you are not wanted here anymore.

It's been far too easy for you stick around and invite all your fat friends to the party, but I'm pulling the plug on this operation.  It's true, my self-control has been phoning it in for quite some time, but it's on notice as well.  Things are changing around here, so pack your bags and leave.  I will not let you bust anymore zippers.

With Venom,

Salad Eater