Writing letters that can never be sent.

Dear Weather,

It's October 7. That means that it's supposed to be fall in the Northeast and Mid-Atlantic states. You remember fall, don't you? Cool, crisp days and chilly nights, perfect for wearing sweaters and cuddling beneath down comforters?

Yeah, that's what I thought.

So why, oh why, is it currently seventy-six degrees with eighty-two percent humidity?

You can take your fucking tropical storms and shove 'em where the proverbial sun don't shine.

No love,

Red

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Dear Ex-Boyfriend Who Is Married To The Woman You Left Me For,

If I wanted to stay up half the night listening to some guy whining lamely about his life, *I'd* be married. Or I'd be working a crisis hotline. Since I'm neither of those things, one can safely assume that when I tell you I don't want to hear about it and hang up, YES, I REALLY DO MEAN IT.

No Love,

Red


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Dear Stupid People,

Has no one ever made you aware of the rules for traveling stairs? Really? Well, then... allow me.

Firstly, when heavily laden with bulky bags and cups of coffee that require one to take up the amount of space roughly equivalent to the width of A FUCKING HUMMER, please do not insist on walking side-by-side down the stairs with your companion.

Secondly, just because YOU don't need to catch the express train currently standing in the station, it doesn't mean that no one else does, either. Kindly PICK UP THE FUCKING PACE.

Thirdly, when people are charging down the stairs behind you as the train operator rings for "doors closing", and these people are shouting, "Excuse me! Coming through for the express!" at full volume, GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE GODDAMN WAY.

Fourthly... had you followed any of the above three rules, I would NOT have had to BODILY LIFT YOU OUT OF MY WAY so that I could get to my express train and thus, not be late for work.

It's hard enough to get to work on time without assholes like you taking up my airspace.

Less than no love,

Red