Dear Loathsome Monday,

Dear Devastation,
You came at me like a bat out of hell today. Sitting in a work meeting, we began discussing college athletes who don jerseys as part of their regular wardrobe. I remembered donning that beloved #31 jersey for days as my field hockey team went 18-1 my senior year. I laughed when I recalled Leah urinating in the cooler on the bus. I felt a tinge of nostalgia as I heard Nessi-bear’s voice calling out “defense COME HOME.” I shuttered as Suds’ calls of “RUN LIKE A WOMAN” rang in my ears again… and then I realized that that beloved jersey- the only tangible relic of years of sweat, blood and tears – is missing. Then, there you were- with a capital D- raining on my nostalgia parade. There you were, like that earth-shattering loss to Rye in the sectional semi-finals of 01. I think I remember going to a party and seeing an ex-boyfriend’s roommate wearing it. I think I remember looking for it a year ago. Devastation, I’d like you to leave me alone. I’d like my jersey to return to its rightful owner… whose name is emblazed across the back.

Sadly,
The athlete formerly known as “31”


Dear Girlscouts,
You shunned me this year. I would have willing and readily stocked my cupboards with Thin Mints, Treefoils and Samoas. Perhaps that contribution would have sent you to the jamboree next fall, or qualified you for an “excellence in salesmanship” badge – but you’ll just have to go without. As retribution, I will ignore each table you set up to hock cookies on street corners and near grocery stores. That’ll teach you.

From,
The former girlscout who will go without cookies in ’08


Dear Gas Tank,
Remember when you quit on me half way up the hill to Parley's Summit, leaving me stranded sans cell phone on I-80, 30 minutes late for dinner with Kimbers? I'm tired of your antics and extreme thirst. I swear that if you ever leave me high and dry again - quite literally I'll upset your stomach with something awful like Diesel.

Angrily,
Your owner


Dear Wedding,
I promise to plan you one of these days. I haven't forgotten about you.

Stressfully,
The Bride whose wedding isn’t close to being done.