I know this is hardly an original concept, but eh. Sometimes I have to quit trying to be all perfect and just write something, anything, and hit publish. Mmkay?

Mmkay.

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Dear husband,

Really? Is it really necessary to DVR every episode of Hoarders?

Regards,

Concerned wife

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Dear peanut butter,

I went so long without you that I thought I didn’t need you anymore. Then I go to make “my” famous peanut and squash soup, and suddenly you’re back in my life again. Back in my house. Back in my refrigerator. Back in my consciousness, urgently bidding me to have just one more spoonful. Just one! Or twelve.

Please never, ever leave me again.

Reverentially,

Your biggest fan

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Attention giant winged insect:

First of all, no one ever even invited you into my house, you miserable ugly buzzy interloper, so quit dive-bombing my head and GET OUT, just GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME AND DIE FOREVER UGH.

In scathing and mutual loathing,

The woman shrieking and crouching behind the couch

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Dear lower back,

Ouch.

Regretfully,

me

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Dear wine,

Let’s forget our troubles.

Fondly,

xoxoxoXoourp

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Dear age 29,

This is our last week together. I’m mostly okay with that. You?

– lyn marie

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To Whom It May Concern:

Contrary to your opinion, not every kiss begins with Kay. In fact, brand new and utterly damning scientific research rigorously conducted inside my head just now indicates that simply standing within 27 feet of a television screen upon which a Kay Jewelers commercial is airing not only increases the rate of homicidal urges among viewers by 39%, but increases the transmission of infectious disease among domestic livestock by a ratio of 1:39758.

Also, I would like to find the person who wrote the commercial with the patronizing skinny-jeans-wearing emo kid who critiques adults’ automobile purchases and punch that person in the face.

Sincerely,

Reluctant media consumer

*********

Dear french fries,

Order the side salad, dammit, I said to myself. Order the fucking salad. What came out of my mouth? French fries. French fries, because 1) I never eat lunch out at work and 2) when was the last time I even had french fries? Besides, you were cooked in duck fat, and if that isn’t all fancy and foodie-trendy, I don’t know what is.

Duck fat.

I should have ordered the salad.

– Bloated

*********

Dear life:

Who are you? What do I even do with you now?

– Baffled

*********

Dear Atlanta, Georgia:

There is currently about a 3% chance we will pack up and move to you next year. So why do I keep looking up your neighborhoods and wondering, wondering?

– Desperately seeking relocation

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Dear Trader Joe’s cinnamon broom:

I bought you four weeks ago, and Jesus Mary Joseph, the whole house still reeks of warm, spicy seasonal cheer. I want to buy fifteen more of you and prop you up in each corner of every room, but I think the beau would have an olfactory overload.

Boo.

– Autumnophile

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Dear raccoons,

GET OFF MY DAMN CAR YOU FAT, MENACING BASTARDS.

Hatefully yours,

Crazy lady wielding broom