Dear Elliptical Machine,

Hello, friend. It is okay if I call you “friend,” isn’t it? After all, we’ve been hanging out together for about a month now, spending “quality time” together most days of the week. And even though, at the beginning, I could only stand to be near you for ten minutes at a time, I’ve gradually found it easier to spend longer and longer sessions with you. Now when we get together, it’s for nearly half an hour. So yes, I think we could consider ourselves friends.

Anyway, here’s the thing. Spending time with you has been good for my heart. My heartrate no longer soars to perviously unknown heights and ridiculously high numbers as soon as I begin to move, and that’s good. But still, when I’m done, my legs are all jello-y, I can hardly breathe, and I feel like immediately falling upon the couch and taking a nap. So could you take it a little easy on me? Or at least say something encouraging while I’m working out? Things would be a lot easier if you said things like, “Good job,” “Keep it up,” or even better, “Katrina — you totally rock!” while I’m exercising.

So, um, work on that, okay? Thanks.

Your friend,
Katrina the Jello-Legged

***

Dear Trader Joe’s,

You do realize that you threaten to counteract all the hard work I’m doing with my dear friend, the elliptical machine, right? With your aisles of yummy trail mixes, cookies, chocolate covered coffee beans, peanut-butter-filled pretzels, and other such goodies…well, it’s hard to visit you and then consistently uphold good health practices.

And yes, I know the food you offer is, in many cases, healthier than the stuff I would buy at Ye Old Standard Grocery Store. But still. If I eat your offerings in enormous amounts, it’s going to cause a problem.

So: you should hereafter sell more vegetables and fewer yummy snacks. Sound good? Good.

Sincerely,
A Very Tempted Shopper

***

Dear poor, neglected boxes in the garage,

I know. I’ve been ignoring you. You moved here with us, from our old house, last October. And while I dealt with many, many (many) of your fellow boxes — unpacking, arranging, storing, putting away — a few of you were left behind. I didn’t abandon you purposely. It’s just…the holidays came, and things got busy, and well…there you are. Faithfully waiting for me, against a wall of our garage.

But perhaps you’ve noticed that I’m back at it. I’m back to unpacking, finally. My goal is to be done unpacking before we’ve lived here 4 months. And that’s coming up quickly. So take heart! You are on the agenda. You will be neglected no longer!

Affectionately,
A fairly rotten unpacker who should probably never move again

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.

Sincerely,
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?

Warmly,
Someone who’s thankful the Nyquil wasn’t expired

**

Dear books,

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.

Love,
Your mostly-devoted owner

**

Dear strangers at the grocery store,

Look. I’m tired, okay?

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.

Exhaustedly yours,
The crazy woman at the grocery store

Dear Baby Bunny Rabbits,

We think you’re very cute. We love how you show up every evening to munch on the clover in our back yard. Admittedly, we get a kick out of your twitchy noses and twilight frolicking.

And to be honest, we’re a bit shocked at how tame you are. I mean, two rambunctious boys playing on the swingset mere feet away from you doesn’t make you consider retreating to the safety of your burrows? You tolerate noise, running, patio conversations. As long as we stay about 15 feet away, it’s all good, right?

Well, that’s fine. Like I said, we enjoy your presence. But just be careful. Our neighborhood does contain dogs and cats, you know. And also hawks. And since you probably don’t have access to the National Geographic channel, let me be the one to inform you: all three of those creatures are bigger threats to your personal well-being than our two kids.

So you know, keep being cute, but watch your back.

Warmly,
Your clover providers

***

Dear Skinny Cow Dark Chocolate Dreamy Clusters,

I thought you were a good idea. Gobs of chocolate and caramel and crunchiness for a mere 120 calories? I could fit that into my daily routine.

The problem is, you’re too good. I find myself trying to find ways to eat more than one cute little serving size in any given day. And if we’re not careful, I could be tempted to consume an entire box of you in one day.

Which would not be a good idea.

So if I pass by you in the grocery store next time I’m there, and seem to ignore you, please know that it’s not really your fault. I just like you too much.

Sweetly,
A chocoholic

***

Dear Chin,

Seriously. Enough with the chin hairs. I’m not even 40 yet, so I’d appreciate if you would just suppress your follicular exuberance for a while, m’kay? The plucking is getting really, really old.

So…knock it off. Got it?

Irritatedly,
Me

P.S. I mean it.

***

Dear precious 5-year-old of mine,

Remember yesterday when you threatened to run away if things didn’t improve around here? That is, if we didn’t stop making your life so difficult by instituting and then enforcing standards and guidelines? I hope you’ve reconsidered your travel plans.

Yes, we’re going to keep enforcing the rules around here. But we’ll love you the whole time. And we promise to try to be reasonable in our expectations.

So please, consider staying here where there’s a comfortable bed, plenty of food, books, toys, and most of all….lots of love.  We’d really miss you if you ran away…even if your planned destination — as you announced yesterday — is just the backyard.

Love always,
Mom

Dear Refrigerator Shelves:

I don’t get you. It’s not like I dump or pour things on you. The vast majority of the food in your home (aka, the fridge) is in containers or bags of some kind. And I’m pretty sure that I don’t come downstairs and smear stuff all over you in a state of sleep-walking.

So why do you always get so dirty?

I really think you should stay clean longer.

Thanks.

Sincerely,

A reluctant refrigerator-shelf-cleaner

***

Dear Gregory Whats-Your-Name:

I don’t know who you are, but I do know that you don’t live here. So please stop giving out our phone number as if it were your phone number. ‘K? Because I’m getting a little tired of the calls regarding IMPORTANT FINANCIAL INFORMATION that come in for you.

Also, I’m sorry for calling you “Whats-Your-Name,” but despite my best decoding attempts, I simply can not decipher your last name in the aforementioned phone calls.

But you know who you are.

Best regards,

Katrina Not-Your-Secretary

***

Dear Up-the-hill Neighbors,

Every time I see the For Sale sign in your front yard, it makes me a little sad. You were here when we moved into this neighborhood and quite honestly, you’ve been fantastic neighbors.

You don’t throw rowdy parties. You are incredibly nice to my kids (which always scores people bonus points with me). You always have a smile and a wave. You’re kind, friendly, and just downright likable.

I understand why you’re moving, I suppose, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. However, I’ll do my best not to terrorize potential homebuyers in an attempt to passive-aggressively force  you to remain our neighbors.

Warmly,

Your Down-the-hill Neighbor