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Dear Julie, Eff off. Love, Lupron
To Whom It May Concern:
Julie , DOB 2/14/71, is a patient of mine who will be traveling by air. She has been prescribed a medication that is administered subcutaneously by a needle. She is required to self-administer this medication while she is traveling, and will therefore need to carry this medication and the needles on the aircraft in which she is flying. Please feel free to contact my office with any questions or concerns at .
Julie's Doctor, MD
Dear Guy Across the Aisle From Me on the Airplane — or may I call you 11-B?
If you don't stop directing looks of impotent outrage over at my eighteen-month-old son, who is, I concede, repeatedly slamming the windowshade in a manner most grievously annoying, but is thereby occupying himself without crying or fouling his half-scale overalls, I shall be left no choice but to roll up my copy of the SkyMall catalogue into a lethal paper cone and ram it up your angrily flaring nostril.
As an unrelated aside, I also have needles.
Dear three home pregnancy tests that I took when my period was a whole week late:
Look, I know it sounds like I'm just saying this, but I actually didn't expect you to be positive. I just figured I should check to be sure. It is, after all, theoretically possible that I had a whole lot of sex mid-cycle...in my sleep...without my knowledge...and spontaneously conceived.
Laugh all you want. At least I don't smell like urine.
Dear giant box of Cheez-Its,
We meet again.
Jesus Christ, would you knock it off? We're trying to work in here.
Yours, but not if you keep this up,
All those unappreciated beta cells
Dear Elliott Yamin's mother,
Oh, God, was I a weepy fucking mess. I was really quite touched by your son's performances. That? Oh, yeah, I just had something in my eye. Oh, for the love of...look, it was the hormones, okay? That's ridiculous — I was not crying. Obviously you have me mistaken for someone much, much less cerebral, because I wouldn't be caught dead watching American Idol.
Why, now that I think of it, I suddenly recall I don't even have a TV
Dear daunting pockets of abdominal flab,
There sure is, uh, a lot more of you than there used to be. We'll do our best, but...man.
Very short subcutaneous needles
Dear everyone who works at the Gap:
I am writing to apologize for my behavior at your store in the late morning of March 25, 2006. Upon reflection, I agree that it was an overreaction on my part to spring out of the dressing room waggling my pelvis and bellowing, "Jeez, would you look at this? What the hell are all these faded lines radiating out from my crotch? Don't I have enough people looking at it these days without giving strangers a fucking road map?"
Furthermore, I agree that "whiskering" is a perfectly innocuous, not-at-all-suggestive name for what is, I am instructed, a slimming, flattering fabric treatment.
Couldn't find style with both hands, a flashlight, and a Rand McNally highway atlas
Day 17 already! I think I'm doing pretty well with the Lupron this time around, don't you?
Gone out for a pack of cigarettes. Tell Charlie I love him.