I carry a daily planner. I don’t plan, but I like the idea of doing it. I’m not an avid journalist, but I aspire to be one. I am, however, a lover of letter writing. Sadly, all my friends left me when I came out of the closet and claimed to the world, I was a writer. Thus, there is no one to write to. Apparently, writers are dull and spend all of their time writing. Go figure. Don’t cry for me, I still have my imaginary friends.
Anyhow, I do write letters—ALL THE TIME—in the daily planner. I write when I’m in meetings, on the train, sitting on the bed, or while I’m sipping wine.
I don’t always write to a living person, sometimes the recipients of my letters are dead or not a person at all. I should note, I’m a hold out from the dark ages. I cherish letters. I especially love it when I get a response to a letter. Well, most of the time, anyway.
Dear Big Bottom
We agreed if I went to the gym five days a week, spent forty-five minutes on the elliptical, engaged in a multitude of muscle building exercises, which limit my mobility for days on end, you would shrink. I’ve honored my half of the deal. What’s your excuse? I caught a glimpse of you today in the mirror. You appear to have grown, exploded actually. In fact, you might be a contender for the fifty-first state. What gives?
A battered body
A long time ago, you were my ally. You reminded of important details, like my husband’s birthday, where my daughter hid her right shoe, and where I was suppose to show up and when. You also remembered voices. You were adept at attaching names with face. You could even recite my telephone number and zip code backwards. I was particularly impressed with your ability to remember the names of my children, which by the isn’t what’s your name again.
Is there something going on I should know about? You’re too young to be old.
A concerned mind
Dearest Battered Body (really?)
WTF? Let’s get real here. Exploded?! First of all, I was NEVER not even when you were pregnant, the size of a state, a small island in the Bahamas maybe. Sure, I’ve not reduced to a size 2, but you’re looking perky these days. Didn’t you notice the lanky man with come-hither grey-blue flecked eyes giving you the once over this morning? No? Girlfriend, open them peeps. He was checking you out.
Now let’s talk about you. First, I thank you kindly for taking me to the gym every day, but I need to move around more during the day. Yay, yay, yay, I know you have a new job, and come home and write until your eyes are crossed, but would it kill you to take us out for a walk? Also, I thought I should mention, three chocolate chip cookies, and a glass of wine is not what exactly a Weight Watcher’s recommended dinner.
As for being battered, if feels good, doesn’t it?
A toned and eye-catching bottom
Damn it. Who am I writing to? I have to check my inbox. Oh yeah, my lack of recall. How catty.
I agree I am far too young to be old. Thanks for noticing. Although, I did observe your butt was sagging last year, which might be an age thing or a by product of the cookies you like to eat in lieu of dinner. I did hear you are working to remedy this travesty, the fallen ass-ets, thing. It’s not that the bottom is the be and end all, but it can draw a great deal of attention. Our body does prefer it when it’s noticed favorably. Good for you, keep up the good work.
It was good to hear from you. Write more often, it’s good to talk.
Who am I kidding, I can’t even remember why the mind wrote me to begin with. I need to clear out the cobwebs.