I don't really find you enjoyable anymore. Why? I'm not really sure. Giving my children the gift of a rich personal history is the only thing that keeps me going. That's probably because the other gifts I'm giving them include mental illness, the propensity for overeating, and an addiction to personal electronic devices.
Dear apple trees,
I'm reading online tutorials on how to prune you. Watch out: the shears are coming. I'm probably more scared than you are, but we both know it must be done.
The novice landscaper
Dear Colorado Springs,
I accept that you (and most of the nation) are experiencing a drought. I accept that we must ration our resources and water our lawns just twice a week. I do not accept the implications of brown summer "grass" and no flowers. I don't think there's an acceptable compromise, but I wanted you to know I'm mad.
A city resident
Dear 20-quart stock pot,
Congratulations on being Garry's favorite birthday present. Now he can boil large quantities of...stuff...that were not previously possible. The reason we haven't bought something like you before is that we don't know where to put you. Guess what? We have not yet discovered that spot.
Your new owner's wife
Dear tax return,
I am absolutely suffocating in our small master bedroom with too much furniture. Thank you for providing enough funds to supply a new, minimalist bed frame with storage underneath so that we can get rid of our dressers and nightstands, thus allowing me to take a deep breath in the room where I sleep. If you could also arrange for someone to purchase our beautiful but too-big-for-our-room bedroom set, that'd be sweet.
Your claustrophobic tenant
Dear right knee,
You are bugging me. Like really bugging, in a painful, annoying, depressing way. My friend Jennie has used words like medial and meniscus and bursa when she pushes on your sore spots. She tells me to ice you and stretch you and rest you. She tells me I can't run, and I really don't like that. The bike is sooooooo boring. So start being nice to me, or I'll...well, you're really in charge of this situation.
I was pretty skeptical about buying glasses online, but now I'm a huge fan. I love your free in-home try-on service. And I like the frames you sent me, and that I found a sweet coupon code online, and that you delivered new glasses in less than a week for about half of what my optometrist quoted me. So, in short, you rock, and that's not just because I don't have to wear rickety glasses with only one earpiece when I watch television at night.
The girl with bad eyes and red glasses
Dear ward newsletter,
I kind of thought you were awesome this month, but there were some technical difficulties in distributing you and I'm not sure anyone read it. I'm pretty sure that happened to keep me humble. So next month when I do a lousy job you'll shoot out to the ward really easily, right? I'm pretty sure that's how it works.
Dear living room of my dreams,
You include a red microfiber love seat, a red-and-yellow patterned wing-back chair with an ottoman, and a round purple rug. Given our current financial situation and the fact that Zach needs braces, you will forever stay in my dreams. (Can you tell I struggle with contentment?)
Please fix my face. I'm old and I don't want to look like I'm experiencing puberty. That's all. I'd like braces to straighten my crooked teeth, and braces and zits go together well enough that I could look like I'm 15 instead of 45. What do you think? This could be my new anti-aging plan, and I wouldn't have to pay you anything.
Dear friends of my 11-year-old,
I need your help. Please convince my son that washing hair, brushing teeth, cleaning and folding clothes, and wearing something besides t-shirts and basketball shorts is not just craziness that his mother believes in. Some of you seem to have reached this conclusion yourselves, so I would appreciate it if you could pass on your wisdom to him, because he sure won't listen to me.
Dear lady in the Target check-out lane,
I believe that you and your extreme coupon cohorts should wear reflective neon vests to indicate that you will take 75 times as long in the check-out lane as regular customers. I would have appreciated the heads-up before I unloaded my six items (and no coupons) onto the conveyor thingy. But congratulations on getting a cart full of whatever for 27 cents. You were loudly and overtly quite proud of yourself.
I know you were excited to tell me that there are "toilets on the wall" in the men's bathroom, but next time you choose to discuss urinals in a public place, please do so with your inside voice.
Dear cell phone,
I really miss the happy little sound you make when a text message pops in. You are so quiet lately.
Dear President Uchtdorf,
Thanks for your awesome talk during General Conference this morning. You spoke to my soul. Usually that's Elder Holland's job, but you won the prize this time. Did you know it's a contest?
A Mormon in Colorado Springs