dear doctors office scale

Dear Doctors Office Scale,

You suck and you lie!!! Do I need to be any clearer?? Your “facts and information” are askew. Listen, I know my numbers, okay. I been stepping on you and your kind for over 4 decades now and I got a pretty good grip on my stats, all right? I am 6 foot and one half inch tall and my weight is always between 185 – 190. Got it?? That’s my facts. That’s who I am. Those are the numbers I been carrying for over 15 years. You feel me??

Now, all of a sudden, you have the audacity to tell me something different?? I don’t think so. Granted, it may have been a few years since I had a check-up, but what you are trying to tell me has got to be wrong. 6 foot even and 235 pounds?? Are you on dope?? First off, where did the half inch go?? I’m not 84 and battling osteoporosis. My spine is fine and I drink lots of milk, so I know you are wrong there. And 235??? Are you kidding me?? Don’t get me wrong, 6 foot 235 are good stats to have . . . . if you are a tailback in the Big Ten. But I am just a warehouse worker in Columbus, Ohio, so I figure those numbers mean to me a high risk of diabetes, asthma and a future candidate as a heart defibrillator patient.

So here’s the deal. Apparently the doc wants to see me again next week . . . . whatever . . . . anyhow, between now and then I expect you to get your weights re-calibrated and your little ruler thing double checked, because next time I step on you, you better be giving me some better numbers. If not, I guess its off to the Biggest Loser for me.

Until then I’m sucking it in,

Matt

dear child safety gate

Dear Child Safety Gate,

I need you to know how much I appreciate you. You give to me a precious allowance that I've always taken for granted, my freedom. When I set you up in the doorway and lock you in, I can feel my sanity flooding back with every confident breath I take. On my side of the doorway is a calm and orderly place. On the other side is a world of chaos and anarchy. You are the stronghold between refuge and revolt. I've always felt close to you.

I have to admit, I'm a little shocked that you've lasted this long around here. It doesn’t matter how many times the kids knock you down and climb all over you, you always seem alert and ready for action during my time of need. I also respect your swagger; you rarely go down without a fight. You've bucked my son about a dozen times and pinched my daughter twice (I know you were just doing your job). I sometimes give them snacks just to leave you alone. I've noticed that you also have a soft side. You give my 1 yr old a shoulder to cry on between her plea's for release.

While you are working, I'm able to have my life again. I get the house clean, shower and try to get my lunch in before the kids make me feel like they are prisoners. Sometimes I will push it a little bit longer and check my Facebook. At some point, however, I am forced to take you down, sacrificing my freedom for theirs. Afterwards, it only takes an hour or two before they are crazy again, so up you go, like a super hero in action. Thank you for the freedom to prepare dinner, do laundry, watch Oprah, write letters, and much more. Thank you for being part of our family. I'm sure that when our little ones are all grown up, you will -no doubt- be adopted by one of my sisters. I hope she will be as grateful for your liberating powers as I am.

Appreciatively Yours,

Kristin

dear chewy brach's christmas tree candy

Dear Chewy Brach’s Christmas Tree Candy,

I imagine that there haven’t been too many people to thank you for just being you, and if there have been none, then let me be the first. Thank you for restoring my Christmas spirit this year. Life, as you know, can get very hectic and stressful, especially during this season. We get so caught up in the hustle and bustle of things that we miss this Seasons true meaning. We have too many things to buy and too little money to buy it all with. We spend what we can’t afford. We go deeper in debt. We pile on the stress.

Then we have too many places to be in too little amount of time. We gotta go to this party here and we have to go see “so and so”, then swing by that party there, then host another party, and then comes the family. We gotta go see your side, then make time for mine, let’s not forget our own immediate family . . . . . this chaos seems to repeat a lot lately. The rush of it all is borderline overwhelming.

Then I saw you. At my Dad’s house in candy dish in the kitchen. It’s really kind of hard to explain exactly how I felt once I seen you. You actually made me stop what I was doing and just be still in your presence. You made everything slow down and seem quieter. You, for one quick moment, took my breath. You see, when I saw you, I remembered Mom. She passed away over 5 years ago, but whenever I see you, I think of her. She always had a dish of you out each Christmas. I actually don’t see you too many other places, but Mom always had a lot of you around. And when you caught my attention, I remembered all the sweet Christmas memories that my Mom helped create. I remembered her telling me that one year we didn’t have much money, but she promised that we would have a bunch of LOVE for Christmas . . . and we did. And as all these wonderful, warm memories flooded through my mind, the chaos of this year just seemed to melt away. I truly was beginning to feel “glad tidings of great joy”. Things started to make sense again. My allegiance shifted from the mall back to the Manger. And it all started with you. Thank you chewy Brach’s Christmas tree candy, I promise to get a bag of you for every Christmas to come.

Merry Christmas,

Matt

dear hubcap [part 3]

Dear Hubcap,

I guess it's pretty clear that you're never coming back. I've

been hanging on to hope for nearly two months now and for

what??? Why should I care anymore? You obviously don’t care

about us. I can understand if you're mad at me for scratching you

on the curb or for the whole "rubber mallet incident", but how could

you just leave the others like this? I cannot imagine how

embarrassing this is for them. YOU ARE DESPICABLE. Not only

that, but you have put me in a very unpleasant position.

Because of your reckless abandonment, I have to tell the

other three that - without you - they are no longer viable members

of our transportation team. I have to tell them that their years of

benevolent commitment have been wasted thanks to an

irresponsible forbearance by one of their own. At this point I wish

you could be found so that we can make it clear how despised you

are. I actually smile when I entertain the idea that maybe you were

picked-up by a bum and are currently employed as his ashtray or

urinal. Is that the life you were hoping for? Did you really have it

that bad here with us? You're NOTHING without us; you will never

amount to anything. Wherever you are, just stay there, you're not

welcome here anymore… I DON’T NEED YOU. If you ever do

show your worthless face around her again, I won't be reaching for

the rubber mallet, I'll be introducing you to the sledge hammer.

SINCERELY,

Nate

dear wobbly-wheeled shopping cart

Dear Wobbly-wheeled Shopping Cart,
Please stop stalking me! You can try and deny it all you want, but we both know you are. How else can you explain the fact that every time I go to the grocery store, I end up with you? I swear you must see me coming and push the other carts out of the way to get to the front of the cart line. I don't realize its you at first, but once I've wrapped my hands around your guide bar and pushed you 15 feet, you show your true colors. Like a very clever predator, you wait until the automatic doors have closed behind me, then you start your demented little dance that torments me so. By then it's too late to turn back, so I am stuck with you the entire journey from deli market to checkout. Very clever indeed.
I know that you are stalking me, because today you magically appeared at Wal-Mart and at Target yesterday. How do you always know where I will be and when? Did you strike a deal with the pre paid cell phones and somehow tap my line? Better still, how on earth do you make it to the next stop on my agenda before I do? It IS a 20 minute drive after all!
I do feel however that I owe you a thank you. After all, had it not been for your constant drifting to the left, I'd have never stumbled across that sweet Ohio State hat for $10 that was misplaced in the jewelry department. Now don't go thinking that makes us friends. Be very clear, we are not. I want nothing to do with you ever again. In fact, the next time you force your misguided, uncontrollable, wobbly-wheeled self into my hands, I will toss you in the back of my Jeep and throw you into the first large body of water I drive by. Go torment someone else and leave me and my family to shop like normal people, instead of going where you want to go.

Hoping this is the end (and wearing a really cool hat),
Jason

dear giant wooden spoon

Dear Giant Wooden Spoon,
This letter is long overdue. I have some serious questions for you and feel that after more than 30 years, you owe me some answers. For starters, how many of you are there??!! It seems to me that every grandparent in the continental United States has some incarnation of you hanging on their wall. What amazing power do you and your kind hold that makes everyone of 'the greatest generation' pull out hammer and nail to mount you in a place of prominence in houses around the country? I swear, I think you were in their house before I was!
Why is it that more often than not, your eternal partner, the Giant Wooden Fork, is mounted not too far away, yet is typically slightly lower on the wall than you? Is this to display your dominance? Is this some sick wooden power play to show the world that the spoon rules over the fork? I for one would think that with its ability to stab things, the fork would reign as king. Yet somehow you and your oblong brethren have pulled off the ultimate coup. Well done.
Lastly, and this is the real heart of the matter, did you derive some sort of sick pleasure from 'tanning my backside' all those years? Yes, I know I shouldn't have set fire to my hot wheels. I know I shouldn't have snuck into the fridge and drank grandpas beer. And I know I shouldn't have shot the neighbors cat with the BB gun (though that cat had it coming). But really, did you have to be so hard on my rear? Couldn't you have maybe flexed a little while granddad was swinging for the fences on my tender little butt? I was only a little lad with a rear no bigger than a volleyball!! Yet you stayed solid, and dished out the punishment as you deemed fit. Then, after all was said and done, you hung there on the wall with your round face looking to the world as though you were smiling about what had just happened. Oh how I despised you.
So, Giant Wooden Spoon, let this letter serve as notice. Unless I wake up one day to find myself suddenly a giant craving a huge bowl of cereal, you and your kind will NEVER be welcome in my house. I may allow Fork to visit though, just to rub it in your stupid round face.

Still feeling the sting,
Jason

dear hubcap [part 2]

Dear Hubcap,

I know that we've had our ups and downs over the years and

I admit I haven’t always been sensitive to your needs. All I am

asking for is one more chance. When I woke-up this morning and

saw that you were gone, my heart broke into a thousand pieces. I

instantly got in the car and began retracing the routes I had taken

yesterday. I've looked EVERYWHERE; the bank, the parking lot at

work, the gas station, the ditch and under every guardrail along the

way… nothing. I have no option but to think that you don’t want to

be found.

I suppose I should've seen this coming; all of the signs were

there but I ignored them. I will assume that the "final straw" was

last Monday when we had that flat tire. After it was fixed and bolted

back onto the car, I remember having some trouble getting you

back into place. I couldn’t figure-out why you were acting so difficult

and resistant. For the first time in our relationship I had to us a

rubber mallet to get you to cooperate. I'm such a fool… It probably

wasn’t even your fault; it was probably that rusty tire rim.

Please forgive me and come back home. The car just doesn’t

look the same without you. I know I can speak for the other three

hubcaps when I say; "you complete us".

Missing you badly,

Nate

dear red tweezers

dear red tweezers,

i just want to thank you for your years of superior service. every since you randomly came into my life via a christmas stocking present from my mother-in-law my life has been changed. i am constantly in awe of you. you are the real deal! you pluck so precisely, so perfectly. you are confident in your ability, it makes your job so easy. i don't even know who made you which heightens your value to me because i don't know what i'd do if i ever lost you.... well ok we do know what i'd do, because i did lose you. i'm so sorry. i'm so sorry the sink stopper thing was out, and i am SO, SO sorry i dropped you down the drain. i had to confess to my husband that you were gone and we both mourned your loss in a serious way. i went to target three different times trying to find a replacement for you. who knew there were so many tweezers out there? $2 tweezers and $200 tweezers. what's a girl to do? how much did you cost red tweezers? because i think you are priceless. we busted out other closeted pairs we had, i bought two or three new tweezers, but nothing sufficed. we didn't realize how good we had it until you were gone. our brows looked sad for months. but then one beautiful day we cleaned out our drain as it kept clogging [probably because of you and a couple toothpaste caps] and lo and behold you reappeared. i'll never forget it. you were kinda gross but i cleaned you off and hugged you. i hope you forgive me and i hope you are happy to be working for us again. i swear i'll never drop you down the drain again so help me god.

pretty brows again,

michelle

dear sand wedge

Dear Sand Wedge,

I started having feelings for you once I realized how much I needed you. I just wanted to write you and tell you that I still care. I love the way your shaft gleams in the sunlight. The way your face shines when I address my ball. The way your grip fits so perfectly in my hands. It feels so right when I swing you. I guess what I want to know is.... WHY??? Why do you hate me so much? I mean, after all I have done for you. For starters, if not for me, you'd still be a nameless face in a big barrel of clubs getting prostituted around the region in that seedy "golf expo". I didn't have to buy you. I didn't have to give you a second chance. I'll be honest; I'm starting to form opinions as to WHY you were in a big barrel way in the back of that expo. Listen "Sandy", you know how they say "first impressions" are everything? I think we're still recovering from that. Let me jog your memory…

I believe it was a bright sunny Sunday afternoon; our first time out that year. You were excited too, the way you kept bouncing off the face of my putter the whole way to the course; it was almost as if you were as nervous as I was. Through the duration of that round -as to be expected- my game fell apart. I think we ended-up shooting a 97 or something like that. Where were you? Just like the rest of my clubs, you never showed up. I was so disappointed. I really expected more out of you.

Sandy, I didn't want it to come to this, but if you don’t start cooperating, you're going to end-up in the shed with my 65 degree. Hear me out; I still care for you, I need you, I want us to get along more than anything. We've got a big match coming-up next week against Gary (from work) and you have to straighten-up. If you do not, I'll have no choice but to let you go (probably into the nearest water hazard). I still have faith that you are the one for me. Together we can get my golf game back on course.

I'll see ya the next time I'm about 35 yards out,

Aaron

dear hubcap [part 1]

Dear Hubcap,

We've known each other for a while now, thanks to our

mutual friend, the '89 Dodge. We don't interact very much, but that

doesn’t mean your efforts go unnoticed. I want you to realize that

you are a significant member of our transportation team.

I'm writing because I'm sure by now you have noticed my

wife's new truck. In my defense, we got a great deal on that Ford

and the 20 inch rims and low-profile tires came with it. I did not set-

out to find something "hip" or "trendy", I'm really not into that kind of

stuff, it was just too good of a deal to pass up. Please don’t get

jealous when you see me driving it, you have no reason to feel

threatened at all. I may be showing my age here, but I still like you.

I think the way that you (and your three teammates) stylishly cover

my rims and lug nuts is quite sufficient. I have no desire to

exchange you for the latest fad. You guys can rest easy knowing

that as long as this old Dodge is in my possession, you'll stay right

where you're at.

Also, I owe you an apology for pulling-in too close to the curb

the other night and giving you that unsightly scratch, I need to pay

more attention. I know it sucks being parked on the street and

you'd rather be in the driveway, but that old car has an oil leak. I

tell you what… this weekend I'll break out the Armor All and give

you guys (and the tires) a good shine.

Keep up the good work,

Nate

dear stop sign

Dear Stop Sign,

I’ll be moving away in a few days and I’m writing to say

farewell. I want you to know that in the five years that you and I

have cohabitated this small piece of property on the corner, you

haven’t gone unnoticed. For instance, I’ve noticed that you – just

like me – enjoy a good thunderstorm. I like to sit comfortably in

the garage with a cup of coffee and marvel as Mother Nature puts

on an amazing light show accompanied by strong winds,

directional rain, and powerful claps of thunder. You on the other

hand react very differently. The way you move back and forth with

the wind… you seem to be jamming out there like you’re at a rock

concert. If I didn’t know better, I would think you’re trying to get a

mosh-pit started in the side yard. I think that’s cool.

I also owe you an apology for the dents I’ve made in your

face. I suppose you can only mow over so many walnuts before

you get frustrated and start throwing them at whatever will loudly

punctuate your anger. You do have to admit that the one in the

center of your “O” was a pretty good shot from thirty yards back.

Lastly, I really want to thank you for all you do to keep our

neighborhood safe. I really hate to see those teenagers ignore you

the way they do. To them you’re merely a suggestion. They don’t

understand the things you have to go through to represent the law.

Perhaps if they had to stand out there in the weather, take walnuts

to the face, get wizzed-on by dogs, nicked by the weed-eater, and

ignored, they may too come to respect you the way I have.

I guess this is goodbye for now… I will try to come through

this way from time to time just to see how you’re holding up (plus

I have to go through here to visit my brother).

Keep on jammin,

Nate

dear booger

Dear Booger,

I can't see you, but I know you're in there. I can't hear you,

but your presence is very obvious. I know exactly where you are,

but my tools -thus far- are useless against you. I want you to hear

me, and hear me good; GET OUT OF MY LIFE! Do you think I

won't eventually get to you? Do you really believe that you are

invincible? Well here's some news for you, I've dealt with your

kind before. I know your game because I've played it many times,

and guess what, I've never lost. You WILL be caught, you WILL

be extracted, and you WILL be discarded just like every annoying

jerk that's come before you.

What is up with you anyway? What makes you act the way

you do? I'm not threatened by you. You're just an instigator; an

unloved antagonist who's probably up there laughing at me like

Woody Wood Pecker. Guess what, you're not as menacing as you

think. In fact, I'd rather be dealing with you right now as opposed

to doing business with one of your relatives (pimple & splinter); at

least they can cause infection. To me you're nothing more than an

insignificant wad of uselessness. That’s right, you're only a minor

set-back; a shameful embarrassment to your kind.

Listen to me; we both know how this is going to end. I don't

even care if you continue this feudal engagement. With every

failed attempt to apprehend you, my will to succeed only grows

stronger. I'm not going to rest until you are out of my life forever.

You're reign of silent turbulence is nearly at an end. Trust me, it

doesn’t matter how stubborn you are, I've got nothing but time and

tissues on my side.

Game on,

Nate

dear coffee mug

Dear Coffee Mug,

How can I repay you for all these years of loyal service? Every morning, before the sun (or anyone else in the house) gets up, you and I are stirring. Shortly after the alarm clock rudely wakes me from my sweet slumber, I stammer to the kitchen to find you gleaming at me from the counter top. All at once the miserable morning now seems manageable.

In this fast-pace society, littered with "energy drinks" and "herbal stimulants", it seems that nobody has time for coffee anymore. The younger guys at work will see me with you and snicker under their breath; they have no idea what coffee has done for this country and no respect for we who still rely on it. Another growing concern is that there are a lot of coffee drinkers out there who find it hard to stay committed to a mug like you. I really don't know how people do it….trusting their life-giving nectar to a meaningless, unproven cup made of cheap Styrofoam or paper…. PAPER??!!!…. are you kidding me???

All I know is that I need you… we are comrades; together we take on the world one morning at a time. I'm so glad I found you and I will always have a place for you in my heart (and in the middle console of my car).

Your Fellow Early Riser,

Nate

dear rectal thermometer

Dear Rectal Thermometer,

First off, this isn’t a fan letter by any means, but rather a letter of sheer adoration to a device that has stood the test of time and held its place of relevancy in your specific field of service. Let’s be honest, not many people like you. Science and modern medicine have gone to great lengths to eradicate your expertise, to take you out of business. They have developed many alternative and more “user friendly” methods of measuring one’s core body temperature. We now have the oral, under the tongue one, the one you just stick in your ear for about 2 seconds, the under the arm guy, and even the rub on the forehead in one second thingy. All extremely more popular that you and let’s just say it, . . . all less probing and less invasive as you are. But, as I am sure you already know, all less accurate as you.

We have even come up with formulas to make the other forms work, like if you use the under arm guy, add one degree, but on the forehead thingy, just realize that it won’t be right at all, it basically serves the purpose of detecting fevers of 103 degrees or higher. I don’t know what it is about the anal cavity that gives us the best reading, but you got that area locked up. I personally have never used your services. Pain, discomfort and a dash of homophobia being the obvious reasons, but I think confusion is another factor. I mean, if I used you and then weeks later accidently grabbed you and put you in my mouth thinking you are the oral one, well . . . . . . . . I just don’t know if there is any coming back after something like that.

But thank you for your service. I hope I never need you.

Matt

dear duck poop

Dear Duck Poop,

You suck. Your very presence can ruin an afternoon in one, quick, single step. I hate you. You know what I hate most? That fact that you are so freaking chameleon-like. You blend into the ground to an almost unrecognizable status. When you lie in the grass, you are green. (I guess the ducks eat a lot of grass) Then when you are on the dirt, you are brown. (These are probably the ducks that got the bread we brought.) But what drives me the most insane is the sheer amount of feces that litter the lawn around the pond in our neighborhood. It’s ungodly. I honestly cannot even begin to describe the amount of stool that surrounds the water. Every step, not every other, but every step has to be a concentrated effort to avoid your contact. I’m tired of it.

Granted, there are a lot of ducks and geese that call the area home, maybe a hundred or two. And I realize that pooping is a normal part of their daily routine, that and swimming and eating are pretty much a full day for normal duck or goose. I get that. So I guess it makes sense that is so much poop around the pond, but for crying out loud, this is ridiculous. Keep in mind that I have a very excitable 2 year old who loves to chase the ducks, and when you think about that, it almost looks like a Norman Rockwell painting in your mind . . . . so cute . . . . the adorable little girl running after 30 or so ducks in the grass, carrying some stale bread to donate to their bellies . . . they run from her, cackle and honk . . . she cracks up laughing at them as she attempts to run faster . . . then it happens . . . . as any two year old knows, when you get to running your top possible speed for any length of time, that means you are about to bite the dust. Which in its self isn’t that big of a deal in a normal grassy field, but one that is shellacked in fowl excrement is just not right . . . . not now, not ever. She gets back up, but tears up from the fall, reaches up her arms and wants her Daddy to pick her up and kiss her new boo-boo . . . only problem is that she now looks as if she has been blasted by a duck poop paint ball machine gun. Its gross.

Am I asking too much to request that the birds leave you and your kind in the water? Is that taboo? Is that an unspoken rule not to be broken like we, as people, aren’t supposed to pee in a pool? Just know that I will be looking into this matter and if I have my way, your days of baking in the sun are soon over. Prepare to get soggy.

Hoping for a clean shoed future,

Matt

dear DVR remote

Dear Sweet, Precious DVR Remote,

How do I start? Where do I begin? How does one pay homage to one so fantastically above the rest? Words and phrases just seem to fail, to fall short each time I try to convey my adoration of your abilities. Let’s just say, I love you. How I lived before you I will never understand. You, and you alone, have the power to restore sanity, order and control in a world that is, at best, chaotic.

Life has a way of knocking us down from time to time, kicking us in the crotch, if you will. The days are hectic and long, filled with time clocks, meetings, appointments, agendas and the like . . . . we retreat to our respective homes, surviving the day, sprawling on the couch and begin to lick our wounds and prepare to do it all over again tomorrow, AND THEN WE SEE YOU.

A feeling of warmness covers our body, we tingle in places . . . we pick you up and then you do the rest. With just a click of a button here and there, a smile returns to the face, the eyes begin to light up and my own little world begins to emerge right in front of me. Now, I have the power, you gave that to me. I call the shots. I decide when things happen. Yes, I now control time.

Unfreaking – believable!! I control what happens and when. Live TV?? Only if I say so! “. . .the kick is up and it’s – time for a beverage refill!!” Oh yeah, I’ll watch it when I come back!! I no longer have to watch what the networks want me to watch on the nights they want me to watch it! Saturday Night Live? I think I’ll watch that Tuesday at 6.

I could go on and on, but the point is this, you have given this regular, ordinary guy in Grove City, Ohio a gift that he has been searching for all of his life. You give me something to look forward to. You cause life to make sense again and for that I have to say Thank You. May your batteries always be strong and you sensor continually clean.

In Awe Of You,

Matt

dear broken clock

Dear Broken Clock on the Kitchen Wall:

Well, I guess it was only a matter of time (no pun intended) until we had a little talk. According to you, it has been 2:47 for the past 3 ½ months. Unless this is some kind of weird, demented dream or some matrix thing that I don’t even come close to understanding, I think you are broke. Odds are, most likely, are that your double A battery is just dead. Should be a quick fix. But you know me, you know my lack of motivation, you know how easily I am distracted. My intentions are good, I look your way wanting to know if it is 9:00 pm yet, and I see you face shouting out to me that it is STILL 2:47, your hands almost waving me down, begging for a quick battery change, I know you want to be correct, to be accurate . . . . it’s who you are, I get that and I want to help you, then all of a suddenThe Office comes on and Michael Scott is at it again, I get to giggling and watching that crazy group at Dunder Mifflin, and the next thing I know, its bedtime and I’m ready to lay down. I think about fixing you, but I am just so tired. “Maybe tomorrow”, I’d say. And the cycle repeats.

You have to look at the bright side. You may not be very informative, but you still look good. The wine bottle, grapes and vines that are drawn on you that give you that wonderful decor all still look very crisp and clean. You match the kitchen very nicely. It’s safe to say, you aint going anywhere, no one could take your place. And let’s keep it real, twice a day you’re right! You know what I mean? Things aren’t too bad.

And if it’s any consolation, just know that it’s not you, it’s me. There is nothing personal going on here. You see what’s going on . . . . the smoke detector batteries, the furnace air filter, the oil in my car . . . nothing gets changed. I got issues, not you. I am so sorry that my laziness has affected you so. I realize that the half hour I spent writing you this letter, I could have changed every battery in the house. It’s just silly. I would fix you right now, but I’m getting a little sleepy. Maybe tomorrow.

Running Late,

Matt

toilet bowl plunger

Dear Toilet Bowl Plunger,

How do you do it?? Seriously, I want to know, how do you do it??? I need to know, I have so much to learn from you. As I write this, I fail to comprehend the depths of your dedication, the vastness of your commitment to us as mere house dwellers. You are like a soldier and then some. I am in awe of you.

First I need to start by apologizing. I need to say I am sorry for all the countless times I have walked into the bathroom and not even acknowledged you. I looked right past you like you don’t even exist. I see you every single day and yet I act as if you are not even there. Yet there you stand, right over there in the corner by the commode, ready to go into battle, ready to be called into action, ready to be there for me if needed . . . . and I can’t even say, “Hi.” I am so sorry. You deserve so much more.

And sure enough, you knew the day would come. . . . I needed you. Like a fool, I over did it on a recent trip to White Castles, a few too many sliders . . . . bada bing, bada boom . . . . I developed intestinal issues and let’s just say I needed your services, and I needed them bad, real bad. And what did you do?? Did you remind me of all the times I was not there for you? Recall all the moments I ignored you?? Tell me how insignificant I made you feel over the months since I needed you last?? Did you mention how hurt you felt when my wife put that decorative doily on you to try and cover you up and make you even more unnoticeable?? NOT AT ALL!!! You stepped up and did what you were created to do, and did it well, might I add. You were fantastic, amazing. You truly go where no man has gone before. You do what no one else has the courage to do. I can’t do it. I would throw up and you know that. And yet you continue to be there and help me out of every plumbing related crisis that I find myself in. God bless you toilet bowl plunger and thank you, thank you for just being you.

Still Flushing,

Matt

boogie board

Dear Boogie Board,

I just want to say how disappointed I am for not getting to spend more time with you on vacation this year. I know it sucked for you even more. You had to ride all the way to North Carolina crammed in the trunk. I would probably flip-out if I had to ride fifteen hours in that heat with my wife's makeup bag sticking into my side. Then after all that, you only got to spend about thirty minutes in the ocean. I really don’t know what was worse, the 54 degree temperature of the water or the masses of jellyfish. If it weren’t for beach volleyball, I wouldn’t even have a tan right now.

That was nothing like last year. Remember that one day during high tide when the waves were 4 to 6 feet high and one right after the other? Yeah we had a great time on the beach last summer. Discounting the occasional wipeout, you and I were inseparable all week long. The weather was hot, the Atlantic was warm, and there wasn’t a jellyfish in sight.

Oh well Boogie, I guess there's always next year. Hopefully then we'll have the opportunity to renew our convivial friendship. Hopefully we'll thrive once again at high tide. Hopefully every jellyfish in the world will become extinct. Hopefully next year your labors won't be wasted as merely a "beach mat" for my sister-in-law to lay-out on. Just keep believing that the best times are yet to come.

Annually yours,

Nate

Dear Ice Cube Tray

Dear Ice Cube Tray,

Recently you've been giving me some problems and I want some answers. First of all, why do you make me work so hard to get ALL of the ice cubes out? Generally I can get an easy nine or ten cubes to release perfectly with simply a gentle twist of your body, but there's usually a few that won't come out so quietly. I will -at this point- give you a second, more convincing twist and you will then release all but that one cube. That one little ice cube near the end… that final piece to the proverbial puzzle. For what reason do you ALWAYS make me twist and slam and bang you around to get that one last cube??? You must know that I have this crippling OCD need to extract all twelve cubes before I can refill you with water. WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM??? I have studied all of your little chambers, inside and out and have found no reason why all twelve cubes can't be released AT THE SAME TIME!!! I've also tried washing you with dish soap, refilling you with hot water, placing you in different areas of the freezer…. nothing works…. YA SUCK!!!

Then there are those times I pull you from the freezer, give you a twist and all of the cubes shatter into hundreds of little shards…. WHAT'S THAT ALL ABOUT??? Don't you dare try to tell me that it’s the freezer either; I don’t have any problems with the other two ice trays and you know it.

Consider this letter your final notice. The very next time that you refuse to give-up EVERY ice cube (in its entirety), you will be terminated. I will have no problem finding your replacement while you're "chillin" in the trash can.

Sleep well tonight…. I know I will,

Nate

dear lidless tupperware container

Dear Lidless Tupperware Container:

I hate you. With every fiber in my being, I hate you. I don’t know how you do it, I don’t even want to know how you do it, but EVERY time I open the stupid cabinet door to where you live, you jump out and land on my head. How do you do that?? Why do you do that?? Is that fun for you?? Do you get some kind of sick kick out of that?? You know that I don’t want you to land on the floor, so I always go to some extreme aerobic measures just to catch you each time. Why do I try?? Better yet, why do I keep you? You aren’t even functional. You don’t have a lid. I think you take advantage of my distorted thinking and frugalness. I think maybe one day I’ll find your mysterious partner and you can be used again. And sometimes I think maybe I could just use foil or saran wrap to seal something up in you so that you could be of good use one day. But you know that deep down inside I am just way too cheap to throw your plastic butt away.What’s crazy is that you aren’t a real Tupperware container to begin with. You are just some container that Kroger used to package its lunchmeat. You’re a wanna be. A poser. Yet I keep you like you are something special, and this is the thanks I get?? You know what? Jump on me again, see what happens. Go ahead, dive bomb me. Do it one more time and I’m done with you. You will hit the floor, my friend, then to the trash can. Oh yeah, . . . . go ahead, jump.

Sincerely,

Matt