Dear couple sitting next to us in church,
I'm sorry. Just really, really sorry. I avoided all eye contact with you and sent many a frustrated eye-roll at the ceiling as I tried to manage the small people who alternately ALL wanted to sit by me/you and then down on the other end of the bench, raising Cain as they walked to and fro. Good grief. It was like a clown car on a seesaw. I promise to leave you alone next week, even if it means sitting in the back on the hard chairs.
The mom of those kids
Sorry, bud. Your hair is not turning brown, even when you plaster water on it. I'm not sure why you are so disappointed.
Dear new-to-me chair,
Sorry for taking you apart. Even as I am painstakingly (no really, it actually hurts) removing all of your staples and brackets, I feel like I'm stripping your dignity, one layer at a time. Now you're standing naked in my living room and I want to cover you with a sheet. And sorry also for being really weird about this.
Sorry I asked you to reserve seating for 16 when only 9 people actually came for dessert. That was awkward.
Heidi, party of...?
I'm sorry you are struggling to stay aloft when so much fat is trying to push you down. It's easier to buy a belt than to exercise, so I'm going to the store tomorrow. Good luck.
Sorry I quit physical therapy "against medical advice." I know you want me to keep doing my core exercises, but my hip and back have felt better in the last two weeks than they have in the last year, and I think I have determined the connection. Love you anyway.
Former Friday patient
Sorry for sitting awkwardly in my seat every week. My blasted feet don't reach the ground and I can't sit in those hard metal chairs very gracefully. It's annoying, especially when people are looking at me. Can't we just sit on the floor?
Dear black pencil skirt,
Sorry for wearing you every.single.week to church. I really need more skirts. I guess if I really felt sorry for you I'd go shopping, but that would make me feel sorry for myself (see my letter to my pants), so I believe we are in what the cliche-ists refer to as a "Catch 22," whatever that means. "Between a rock and a hard place" is just a dumb thing to say. Maybe I should make up a euphemism for really stupid. I'll work on that.
The lady with the super boring Sunday wardrobe
Sorry for cramming so much into your scant hours. Who knew that so many lame/menial/annoying tasks could be smooshed into one day? That must have been exhausting for you. Oh wait, that was me.
Dear Gavin and Lexi,
Sorry that I'm taking all of your stuff away tomorrow. It's alllllll over your floor AGAIN, even though we cleaned it alllllll up yesterday. I'm not a huge fan of you making messes just for the sake of making messes, so I figure if we eliminate the source of the messes, then the messes will go away. That might mean you'll be out of underwear after two days, but what the heck. There are pull-ups in the drawer.
Dear Not Me,
Sorry for discovering your secret today. Don't pretend you didn't fill that tall laundry basket with all manner of household belongings and hide it in the utility closet a couple of months ago. You must have been so disappointed that your family recovered long-lost items like pajamas, a beloved dress-up gown, brand-new-back-then school shoes, and my favorite sandal. I know you thrive on getting other people in trouble, and making other people miserable, etc., so I'm sorry for ruining your fun. But seriously, don't ever do that again.
Sorry for not believing you that you "lost" your white Sunday shirt. How is that even possible? Sorry for not being willing to iron another too-small plaid shirt when you opted to wear that to church after rejecting the other shirt I ironed for you. We all survived, but you had better find your shirt for next week. Talk to Not Me and I'm sure it will show up.