Friday's Letters

Dear Medicine: I understand that for the last nine years, you've helped me to overlook supersad things and not be so depressed. However, I'm NOT depressed anymore and I would very much like to stop taking you. Kindly KNOCK IT OFF. I'm not interested in having day-long dizzy spells or headaches the size of my brother's puffy lips. Kthanx.


Dear Neighbors: Really? At two in the morning you're still stomping around in your house? How is it possible that I can literally hear every step you take from any room in my house? Starting tomorrow, I'm going to pound on the walls every time I hear you. I'm serious.
Dear Lower Back: What the stink is wrong with you? Cold doesn't work. Heat doesn't work. What will work? And you, left leg... What's up with you? Did you feel left out or something? I promise you that you don't HAVE  to ache every time my back does. It's alright. Really.
Dear Husband: I'm sorry for waking you up a zillion times last night. Again. Thanks for switching pillows with me and being semi understanding when I broke down in the grocery store because I couldn't bring myself to ask you if we could buy some cookies. You're a doll and I love you very mucho.
Dear Arturo Trejo: Your videos are hilarious. I'm so glad that I found them yesterday while I was wandering YouTube. Just so you know... I appreciate the fact that you named your son Jose Luis and that you pronounce it with a good deal of phlegm. Thanks. 
Dear Alexa: FOR GOODNESS SAKE, CHILD, SIT STILL! You can't wiggle like this when I'm trying to give birth, k? Deal? Capece? Thanks.