Elizabeth has a wonderful series on her blog entitled Short Letters to Famous People. (You can read the latest installment here.) In the same spirit I present: Short Letters to Inanimate Objects.
Dear Puttanesca Sauce,
How did I live so long without experiencing your utter fabulousness? While reading Belong to Me by Marisa de los Santos, I fell in love with the idea of you. The character Cornelia explains, "truth be told, spaghetti alla puttanesca is a wee bit indecent, a rather lowly dish. Life-alteringly, soul-healingly scrumptious, but lowly. In fact, for reasons best left obscure, 'puttanesca' derives from the Italian word for 'whore.'" Full of olives and capers and - gasp - anchovies - I wasn't sure you'd be family-friendly enough for the Persheys. But as it turned out, we had a jar of you in our pantry, from a Christmas basket full of Ohio-grown delicacies. Having polished that jar off, we've moved on to the more readily-available Trader Joe's version. Life-alteringly, soul-healingly scrumptious, indeed.
Dear Honda Fit,
We felt pretty good about you when we bought you last September. Having done our homework, we knew you had a reputation for reliability and safety. I quickly learned you are marvelously manuverable. Dude, I can even parallel park behind your wheel. And then in December, my friend Allison was in a bad car accident in her Honda Fit. The car was destroyed. She was fine. Now she shows strangers pictures of her mangled old Honda Fit when they ask her if she likes her new Honda Fit.
So, thanks. Really. From the bottom of my heart: thanks.
Dear Swimming Pool at LA Fitness,
Thank you for being full of warm water, and mostly empty of people. When I was pregnant with Juliette what I wanted to do more than anything - anything - was swim, but I didn't have access to a pool. I only manage to visit you once or twice a week, but you're making me feel so much happier and healthier. You are not, on the other hand, making my hair very happy or healthy...
So, you are nowhere near as long as you must be before I can cut you off and send you off to Locks of Love. But I'm seriously wondering if you have it in you to get there. Even before the reintroduction of swimming into my fitness routine, you were taking this length experiment pretty lousily. Now your ends are snapping off like sugar peas.
Dear Liz Lange Dress,
I am so, so, so glad I bought you, even if I had to pay full price to make you mine. Even though you're a little faded this time around, you're still perfect: the funky gray flowers growing on a dark teal background, and that golden ribbon! It ain't easy being pregnant, and super cute maternity clothes make all the difference in the world. Even though I can't wear you bare-legged and -armed like I did during the summer in California, with a cardigan and tights you can even make an appearance during winter in Illinois.