An Open Letter to John Hancock

Dear Mr. Hancock,

For years, I regarded you as a bit of an ass. I thought that if Open Letters had existed in your day, surely our contributor Brooke would have taken you to task for what she would only have been able to term, "incorrigible douchery". After all, who signs their name that way? It smacked of the class clown in high school who had to find some insignificant way to draw attention to themselves.

It appears, however, I have an apology to make. I recently read Thomas Rogers' account of your stay in the Massachusetts House of Representatives, where he praises you for "blazing a whig of the first magnitude" in defiance of the British. Why have we never heard of this? We hear all about the Boston Tea Party and various boycotts, but never about this stunning display of bravery.

Something epic like this, I imagine

In any case, my truest apologies to you. I have now decided to make you one of my all time heroes, alongside such great patriots as Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Franklin, and Rocky Balboa. Shine on, you crazy whig-burning diamond.

Forever in debt,

An Open Letter to My Credit Card

An Open Letter to My Credit Card


Dear Credit Card:

I know this might seem like it's completely out of the blue, but... well... how do I say this? To put it as gently as possible, I'm breaking up with you, you jackhole. I know, I know... I'm sorry. We've had some great times. We really have. Remember that shopping spree at Anthropologie? Remember when I got LASIK? Remember when Snuggles had to have unexpected surgery? Yeah... I'm still paying for those things. Not cool, you know? Your manipulative ways have held me captive in your unrelenting grasp for too long. I've come to realize I'm just another number in your little black book. Account No. XXXX XXXX XXXX 0231, actually.

And so, Credit Card, I'm cutting you off. I'm cutting you out of my life completely. And, well, I'm actually going to literally cut you up as well. And believe me when I say it will hurt me more than it will hurt you. Because I will actually have to start paying for things. And it's going to sting for a while. But in the end, it will turn out for the best. For both of us. Well... maybe not for you. But definitely for me. And hey, chin up; someday we'll look back on this and laugh.

It's not you. It's me. Well... actually, it is you. It's 100% you, and you suck.

Not so fondly,

Heather
(your soon to be debt-free ex)

P.S. I've been seeing someone else. His name is Ca$h Money.

An Open Letter To My Friend, Whose Novel I've Been Editing

Dear Ron,

"Cocksure" is a fine word, and it has its place in the language. Not in the way you've been using it, though. Not in that way at all.

Thanks,
Shawn

An Open Letter To The Shirt I Just Bought That Says "Not Machine Washable, Dry Clean Only"

Dear Shirt,

You're never going to get cleaned. I just thought you should know that.

Thanks,
Shawn

An Open Letter to My Alarm Clock

An Open Letter to My Alarm Clock


Dear Alarm Clock:


I hate you.

That is all.


Sincerely,

Me

An Open Letter to the Remote Control

An Open Letter to the Remote Control


Dear Remote Control:


Where are you? I'm tired of your little games. I know you're not in the couch cushions; I already checked there.

Show yourself.


Regards,

Heather

An Open Letter To Edy's

Dear Edy's,

I recently had occasion to purchase your Pumpkin flavored ice cream. It seemed like a sure bet. Here are the factors that caused me to believe I was making a good choice:

#1. I like ice cream
#2. I like pumpkin pie
#3. I like seasonally available treats, such as egg nog and Cadbury Creme Eggs

But my delight turned to disdain when I arrived home, removed the lid, and took my first tentative bites. (I don't believe in bowls--they only take away from the purity of the ice cream eating experience.) The first problem was the color. I was expecting something light brown, like the pumpkin pie filling I've always loved. Instead, I was assaulted with a strange peach-like hue completely inappropriate for the flavor. The second problem was the consistency. I expected it to be more like, I don't know, ice cream. Instead, I swirled my spoon around a thick, dry paste not unlike mashed circus peanuts. That it was cold was really the only thing that met my expectations. The flavor was in the ballpark--just close enough to make me wish I was actually eating pumpkin pie instead of your product.

Be the Avis of your industry, Edy's. Try harder.

Thanks,
Shawn

CC: Dreyer's