When did it become so popular to write and publish “open” letters to people we don’t know?

According to the Oxford Dictionary, an open letter is “a letter, often critical, addressed to a particular person or group of people but intended for publication.” I see the value in this means of expression, and though the open letter is intended for human beings, I have some critical things to say to goat cheese and other inanimate objects.

Dearest Goat Cheese Log from Costco,

Time is of the essence, and I feel I must tell you, I want to make love to you, and gulp the creamy deliciousness from the log that you are. I will then spank your white ass and eat it like a fucking goat cheese porn star.

Dear Chocolate that I Hid From My Family,

You thought I’d forgotten about you, didn’t you? You fool! I was merely biding my time, feeling emotionally healthy and completely devoid of menstrual hormones for 2 whole weeks. But now…everything has changed. The Crimson Rage will be upon me in 9 days and I feel the tide building, the tsunami that only you can staunch. Please, chocolate, be not afraid. I’m not here to hurt you, no, I merely want to caress you with my hot mouth, where you shall die a thousand deaths as you melt on my tongue, sacrificing yourself for my sanity. Don’t make this harder than it has to be, just remind me which spot I chose for your safe keeping and I’ll make it a quick and painless passage.

To The Litter Box,

I can’t even describe the pain you evoke, taunting me with your foul stench, scalding the fine hairs in my nose. You, sir, are an abomination. I might be partially to blame; spousal stand-offs would have each of us daring the other to go another day sans fresh kitty litter. This high-stakes game has increased our tolerance of your putrid existence. Admittedly, I’d rather burn my flesh in a vat of hot oil then wield the scooper of poop. Bending over to do the deed, I inhale the acidic stink of your piss clumps and the piles of shit that smell like cadavers; I loathe you and hope you endure a slow and painful death.

Sweetest Moldy Food in the Fridge,

I’m sorry we didn’t eat you sooner. I do admit, you were very delicious, but now, you sit there, aging and helpless, watching me with those watery, fuzzy eyes, willing me to put you out of your misery. I can’t. I just can’t. The second I open you, the odoriferous waft of rot shall render me useless and dry-heaving. No amount of mouth-breathing can save me now and I know not what to do. Alas, I shall leave you where you are and for who knows how long. I’ll not see you again until I’m desperate for Tupperware, so fare thee well, my friend.

Dear Common Area Toilet,

You and your eternal skid marks disgust me. I cleaned you less than 4 hours ago, and you mock my pain with splatter that would make a crime scene analyst throw up in his mouth. Who has defiled you so? Husband? A child? I know it’s unthinkable, but could it have been a guest who left their vile mark? I fear I cannot abide the cleaning of a stranger’s poo. Oh toilet, I do apologize for leaving you in such a state; clearly I lack the skill of a good homemaker. The shame I feel is eternal.

As it turns out, open letters are a remarkable way to convey deep-seated feelings you have towards any object in your life. Be it an appliance, a food or a mysterious smell, each of us can find release by utilizing this simple, yet miraculous tool.

Sincerely and Best Wishes,



Jill is a seeker, writer and blurter of truth. She is a top-notch Vagina Evangelist, wife to a hoarder of camping gear and mother to 2 girls, 2 dogs and a cat who's been perilously close to death for several years now. From wildly comedic to tear-dripping serious, you can find her stories on her blog, Totally Inappropriate Mom, where her 'life-uncensored' philosophy, naughty humor and general inappropriateness run the show.

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