Dear impatient teenage driver,
I’m very glad that you managed to slam on your brakes and avoid hitting me in the Panera parking lot the other day. For future reference, driving at 40 mph in a parking lot is generally not a great approach. You’ll hit far fewer people if you keep your speed appropriate for the environment.
I’m also glad that I didn’t see you crash into any other vehicles. Although, when you chose to roar past me once we were on the main road, and then run a just-turned-red light, I was concerned that an accident was imminent.
I know you’re young and invincible and that you don’t have time for us old fogeys. But for your own good, and that of those around you, please exercise caution while driving.
A concerned “older” driver
Dear expired medicine,
Are you multiplying behind closed doors? Because really, I don’t know where all of you come from. As I’m cleaning things out in preparation for our move, I’m honestly shocked at the amount of expired over-the-counter pharmaceuticals in our home.
Or perhaps instead of multiplying, you all got together and changed your expiration dates when I wasn’t looking. Because it seems you’ve all expired in the last three months. Couldn’t you spread out your expiry dates a bit more?
Someone who’s thankful the Nyquil wasn’t expired
I love you. You know that, right? It seems I can never have too many books.
Well, except for right now, maybe.
Because as I pack you all into boxes, preparing to move you to our new home, I’m struck by the sheer number of you. And also, the sheer weight of you.
It is not going to be easy to move the many, many, many pounds of books we own to a new location. My back will surely complain.
So please don’t take offense, but I’ll probably never move you again. You’ll either live out your years in our new house, or get donated, sold, shared, or otherwise disposed of. Because I never want to pack, move, and unpack this many boxes of books again.
Your mostly-devoted owner
Dear strangers at the grocery store,
And no, your eyes were not deceiving you.
It’s true that the other day, as I approached the automatic exit door — yes, the one that automatically opens for all of us shoppers — I lifted my car key/remote-door-unlocker-thingy, pointed it at the automatic grocery store door, and clicked the Unlock Button repeatedly.
Like I said, I’m tired. And I have a lot on my mind.
But the door opened after I did that, didn’t it? I rest my case.
The crazy woman at the grocery store