Letters to People Who Clearly Need Letters

Dear Anorexic Girl:

Eat something.


Seriously. Please eat something.

I know that you must be sick and tired of people being suspicious around you and encouraging you to eat, and I know that you are not going to listen to them.

But please eat something.


You are suffering from an eating disorder that alters the way you view yourself. I've seen how gaunt your cheekbones are and the way dark circles rest underneath your hollowed eyes. Do you not see this yourself? How puckered and scary your face has become?

Do you not see how your ribs and hip bones jut out pointedly against your skin?

No. Of course not. You look in the mirror and see a fat girl.

Normally, I would have sympathy for you, but today, I must confess that I had absolutely none for you.

You may think that the only person who is affected by your maladie is yourself...but have you considered that maybe, just maybe, you will interrupt others' lives because of your health woes?

Well, today, that happened.

Today, as I rode on the first bus I must take to go to work, you became so fatigued and weak due to your lack of energy that you collapsed on the spot! In one second, your composure of thiness teetered upon your high heels and crashed with a "thud" on the bus's dirty floor.

A frantic flurry of hands rushed to your aid. They helped carry your light frame unto the nearest empty chair. A window was opened to let in fresh air for you to breathe. The bus driver had to stop and wait for you to recover.

This lasted all but four minutes, but those four precious minutes were just enough to make me miss my connection by two minutes.

I don't want to sound heartless. I don't want to sound petty. I should be more compassionate towards your case. After all, you had just fainted.

Nevertheless, I remained quite annoyed with you. Because of your brief fall, I had to stand waiting under the cold rain for an extra 21 minutes to catch the following bus to my job. Because of your descent, I barely arrived with enough time to spare to make photocopies for my lessons. I arrived five minutes late to greet my students. They had to revise for a test they had today in a different class. They needed those extra five minutes to practice their English with me.

You affected not only my students' and my schedule. I'm sure the others on the bus had their own times to be conscious.

So, please, eat something. It is unhealthy for you to keep living like this.



Dear Bulimic Girl:

I saw you and you know it.

Rather, I heard you. And you know that I did.

I was in the nice café having a nice coffee at the same time that you were having your nice lunch with your nice boyfriend.

We both had to use the bathroom around the same time. The café has only one toilet, so I had to wait for my turn and let you finish using it.


I waited outside that door for nearly five minutes. During that time, I heard muffled groans and retching emit from the other side. I wondered what was wrong with you.

Then you opened the door and I knew: your cheeks were flushed, you looked as if you had cried. Your large clothes were doing a good job hiding the lack of fat on your body. Your crevassed cheeks were a dead giveaway.

We made eye contact and you knew that I knew. But I won't tell your secret, for it is etched right on your face.

You went back to your nice table and joined your nice, smiling boyfriend.

You threw up the nice lunch that your nice boyfriend had nicely paid for you. Is this how you repay him? Has he not noticed this odd behavior of yours in the time that he has dated you? If this is what you do every time you two go out for lunch, then that is such a complete waste of his money and time.

I don't want to sound holier-than-thou, but if I had a nice boyfriend who offered to pay me a nice lunch in a nice café, I certainly wouldn't be blowing chunks afterwards (unless it had been contaminated and gave me food poisoning, which I doubt was the case because you ate at a nice café).

Please, Bulimic Girl, realize that what you are doing to yourself will have grave consequences on your well-being in the future. I'm sure that something in you may just be beginning to be damaged as well.

Your body is not a toy. You only have one body in this life.

Please take care of it. And of yourself.


Barb the French Bean

Letters to Things That Don't Need Letters (#6)

(Okay, I've gotten lazy in providing direct links to the previous letters. If you want, just click on the label for "letters" at the bottom of this post. :-P)


Dear Public Restroom Stall:

Why is it that when I have to use you, you lack the necessary metal hook that I use to hang my purse and shopping acquisitions? When faced with this humiliating situation, I'm often stuck trying to strap my shopping bags at your door's top corner and lacing my hefty purse around my neck like an overworked donkey just so I can liberate my hands for a few seconds. Fat chance if you expect me to place my items on the floor because I dread to think of what that invisible puddle lurking near the toilet consists of...

On another note: if I so have the even more fortunate chance of discovering (a little too late) that you are also missing a lock, I suddenly have to do a rather bizarre yoga asana that includes having one arm lifted while suspending my upper body in a squat-like position. The outstretched limb is to, of course, impede a potential stranger from walking in on me. How stressful is it when I worry about having someone catch me preforming this embarrassing balancing act?

Dear Stomach:

I'm still debating what I shall put in you today and it is nearly lunchtime. How does some crackers and yogurt sound to you? Mmmm.


Dear Weather Report That Predicted a 20% Chance of Rain:

I think your figure was actually off by 80%.

Dear Suitcase :

I still have yet to pack you. Just please don't scream for mercy when you see all the stuff I have in store for you.

Dear Highly-Neglected Bedroom:

I'm sorry for leaving you to get into your current disheveled state. I promise that I will tidy you up soon enough. Besides, it's for my own good as well. I now find that I can barely walk while trying to guide my feet on the available floor spaces that still have not been conquered by the strewn piles consisting of items intended for your friend, the Suitcase.


Dear 30-Pound Weight Loss:

I'm so close to you that it is not even comical! When I stood on my scale and saw that the number revealed that I had shed 26.16 pounds/11,8 kilos, I could have run around doing a celebratory lap (which I eventually did)! You have no idea how much this minor physical change has affected my mental well-being and I can't wait to see you!

But now that I face trading one country for another in two weeks, I have at least FOUR going away restaurant meals to attend...and I still have not factored in the invitations my French friends probably will suggest upon my arrival. I can never quite turn down spending time with my friends while eating something. As I've learned, life is to be enjoyed, provided that careful moderation is applied.

No matter what, I will persevere in my quest to become hotter than Shakira. I can only grant myself the benefits of giving myself a healthier lifestyle.

Dear Scratchy Sharp Corner on My Computer Desk Which Is Conveniently Located at Thigh Level:

FUCK YOU.

Barb the French Bean

Letters to Things That Don't Need Letters (#5)

[Much thanks for reader Delphine Chevalier at Chez Mlle Delphine who suggested the earth-shattering idea that I should start numbering my letters...but if you are the creepy, thirsty guy she warded off, stay AWAY from her house!]

The previous sets of letters are #1, #2, #3, and #4.






Dear Cheaper Italian Espresso Pot:

When I purchased you in Rome as a literal last-minute impulse last April, I had no idea how well you would work. I never imagined that your no-name, no-brand status would actually function better than the Bialetti Espresso Maker I encountered before you. Early this week, I discovered that not only do you boil coffee faster, you also bring out the aromatic flavors more than your pricey cousin.

Had I known you had existed, I would have easily skipped purchasing the Bialetti pot and gotten 3 of you instead.



Dear Bialetti Espresso Maker:

No offense, old pal. I still like you, but you really haven't proven yourself to be worth the money I paid for you. I still remember the joy I felt when I first saw you in Italy. I had gone on vacation to the boot-shaped peninsula with a friend and had made it a personal goal to buy an authentic Italian espresso maker during my once-in-a-lifetime stay. This goal was inspired by my memories of my family once owning an Italian espresso maker that lasted for nearly 10 years. I was fed up with using the low-quality "Made in China" varieties and just wanted something that would last a little longer. I figured that because I was in Italy, I would be provided with an endless stream of espresso makers.


Boy, was I wrong. I first spent two days scouring Venice visiting the tourist essentials and I only managed to find ONE store that sold kitchen equipment; it was closed. Then, when my friend and I went to Rome, I miraculously found a shop that specialized in only Italian goods. There, I found a coffee pot and bought it with full confidence that it would be a bona fide 100% Italian product (I even asked the shopkeeper if the espresso maker was of Italian origin and he assured me that it was). I walked out of the shop, shopping bag proudly clutched in hand.

I then checked its packaging. Next to an image of the Union Jack, I read the words "Made in China."



Made in China.

Not Italy. CHINA.


I simply refused to leave Italy with a Chinese espresso maker.

It promptly went back to the store where I informed the respectable-looking elderly Italian shopkeeper that what he had sold me was not Italian. I won't forget that moment: his eyes bulged dangerously in his withered face, vein throbbing upon the temple. He turned to his co-worker and then, while viciously strangling the foreigner, started yelling in the Romance language I do not speak. I could only grasp that he was just as scandalized as I was that the coffee pot in his 100% Italian product store did not meet his required qualifications.





I promptly received his apologies and was given a full refund.


So Bialetti, you can understand how, after this ordeal, you became a long-lost hope in my eyes the moment I saw you. It was my last full day in the Italian capital and I simply needed to seize the desperate opportunity. Despite your hefty price, I bought you.


It wasn't until I was checking out of the hotel-campsite which I had stayed in for 3 days the following morning that I saw your much cheaper cousin. I decided to buy him too because I could not bear the insult of having scoured two espresso-makerless Italian cities only to notice on my last moment that it existed.

On top of that, once I returned to Dijon, I soon found a shop that sold coffee and tea items. There, in the display window, I saw one of your siblings. And he was cheaper than you.

How insulting is it to find that the same Italian espresso maker is cheaper in France than in its native Italy?

So, again, my friend, I have nothing against you. We share great memories together, but you just don't work as well as my other coffee maker. I'm not being an ingrate. I just honestly feel ripped off.

Dear Half-Pound:

Thank you for finally going away from my body after stagnantly lingering for over two weeks. I can now officially claim that I have lost a total of 20 pounds. You have truly frustrated me for two weeks. Please don't ever come back.

EVER.


Barb the French Bean

Another Set of Letters to Things That Don't Need Letters

[Here are the links to the other sets of letters: first, second, and third.]

Dear Cockroach in the Bathroom:

Pervert. Don't pretend like I didn't see you. 'Cause I saw you. With your presence, I find myself being ill-at-ease with the fact that you were staring beadily at me as I showered. I suppose you found it very entertaining and are now planning to invite your roach buddies to witness the next spectacle.

Well, I'm on to you, pal, with a flip-flop firmly clutched in my hand. Yes, that was a threat. Get out or I'll swiftly end your life in the most abruptly brusque manner. If you wish to avoid this fate, will you kindly remove your disgusting person out of place where I'm not supposed to feel vulnerable being naked? And don't you dare think of stopping by the kitchen for a midnight snack, you horrid animal.


Dear Alka Seltzer:

Thank you for taking away my headache. I really owe you one! I love the way you fizz hundreds of tiny bubbles when I release you into your natural habitat of a glass of water.


Dear Grandpa Computer:

You'd better pray that I don't find out how a hammer works.

Dear Bed Bugs:


Please stop invading beds and New York movie theaters so endless morning talk shows don't do excruciating reports that detail the welts you inflict on the unsuspecting people who go see Dinner for Schmucks and the like. The Cockroach in the Bathroom is bad enough for me, thanks.

Dear Sound of Running Water:

You have no idea how much you torture my bladder after I've drunk 3 glasses of water. The fact that my home has only one toilet that is currently occupied doesn't exactly abstain me from doing the jiggy "I gotta pee" dance that every single person does at some point.

On the plus side, I am now considering to become a toe-tapping tap dancer who sits in a chair.


Dear Garbage Day:

I only remember you when the Garbage Truck is beeping right out my window. Damn it. Can I do a raincheck on you?


Dear 19 1/2 pounds/ 8,8 kilos:

Thanks to your absence, I've now been able to try on clothes that have been sitting in my closet for over two years! This has prevented me from going out to purchase new clothes (but I probably will have to get some New Jeans soon). Thanks so much for going away!

Barb the French Bean

Yet A Few More Letters to Things That Don't Need Letters

[The first set of letters is here and the second one is here.]


Dear Rainy Season:

You are really putting a cramp in my style (especially my hair; curse you, humidity). Thanks to you, I have not been able to take my evening walks around the school for 4 days now, so I decided to try to wake up early in the mornings.

Why on earth did you rain again??? I thought you were supposed to rain only in the afternoons. For crying out loud, it's like you can't make up your mind! Are you just trying to divert me from my weight loss goals? Thanks to a lack of exercise, I've been feeling like a lazy blob. I really need to get out of the house and move a bit. This is good not only for my physical health but also my currently dismal state of mind. Ugh.

I need a cup of coffee.


Dear Cup of Coffee:

You taste yummy. I think I'll have another one of you soon.

Dear Sun and Blue Skies:

Thank you for coming back so I can do my walks. Can you tell your buddies Heat and Humidity to go away?

Dear Crescent Moon:

You were exceptionally beautiful tonight.

Dear Lap:

I finally ran you today. I first speed-walked 7 of you and decided to run you. Completely. I haven't run one of you since I was a Freshman in high school. I remember that I always huffed and puffed pathetically, trotting behind the others as they each passed me one by one. At least today, I felt like I was running only for myself. Thank you for giving me a sense of empowerment.

Dear Next Monday:

I normally would dread having you arrive (even if your considerably more attractive buddy Thursday is currently in town), but I admit that I look forward to seeing you soon! When you make your presence, I will drive down to the French consulate and pick up my passport that will hopefully have a long-stay visa. ^.^ I can't wait!

******************************************

Update Letter

Dear McDonald's:

I just saw a commercial for one of your Angus beef wraps. Screw you.

Barb the French Bean

Some More Letters to Things that Don't Need Letters

(Here's the first post.)

Dear ATV Quad,

You continually pollute my neighborhood nightly with your thundering motor, and I must say that it has me at my wit's end. Perhaps there is some deeper issue involved with your need to make yourself be spotted by others. Do you desire to someday be taken seriously as a proper form of transportation? Have you developed an inferiority complex to the SUVs careening on the roads? Or are you just trying to exert your unattainable Monster Truck aspirations?

Also, I don't want to burst your bubble, but when you zoom down the streets without a care in the world, you release a loud noise that sounds like successive farts being shot from a machine gun. That cannot possibly be normal and healthy, right?

I suggest that you lay off the beans and consult a doctor about your psychological and gastrointestinal issues asap.


Dear Miami Traffic,

You have the worst drivers in the world, and they all seem to come out when I decide to take the wheel of my car. Why don't we get together and coordinate a plan in which you shunt the swerving one-handed monkeys away from my path? And please remind people that the turn signal does have a perfunctory purpose: it is to warn me when they are going to turn. Somehow, this concept seems foreign to your drivers.


Dear Alarm Clock,

You had better wake me up in time tomorrow for my appointment to the French consulate. I need a visa if I am expected to remain in France for more than 90 days. Fail at your sole responsibility and I'll gladly introduce you to Mr. Garbage Can.


Dear Jeans,

I'm afraid that you and I are going to have to part ways soon. You no longer sit comfortably on my waist nor outline my hips and enormous buttocks anymore. In fact, I was staring at you the other day and I had to gasp at how much of my underwear I could see peeking from the gaps just above your waistline.

This really isn't your fault. It's the Fat's. I hate having the Fat control me by giving me a negative self-image about my body. I just need to move on to something better and I'm getting smaller, my friend. Please wish me the best of luck of finding someone half as good as you were.


Dear Fat in My Body,

Maybe it's a little too early to declare victory, but I've already lost 15.6 pounds of you. If I keep up my strength exercises and my evening walks, I shall soon get rid of the other 72.4 pounds.

Ha, ha, ha! See ya later, sucker!


Dear Exercise Shoes,

Thank you so much for tolerating every step I have taken to date. I don't know where I would be without you guys. Let's meet at the same time tomorrow, okay?


Dear Car Horn,

Honking at me as I walk around doesn't really flatter me. It also makes me question your level of maturity; if tooting abruptly whenever you see me is your main form of entertainment, then you obviously need to grow up.


Barb the French Bean

Letters to Things That Don't Need Letters

Dear Lukewarm Water,

I will not drink you unless you are cold. Sorry, but I simply had to let you know that. I don't care if you come from the tap...just be cold.

I also tell you that I refuse to shower in you. My skin requires you to be at a scalding temperature to give me the false impression that I have actually cleaned myself well enough. Yes, I know hot water is bad for my skin, but I still like it, dang it.


Dear Credit Card,

I hate you. Die.


Dear Demon Chihuahua,

I love you. Please stay with me forever. <3


Dear Garbage Bag in the Garbage,

You really, really stink repulsively today, but I'm too lazy to throw you out. I think I'll eventually do so once I finish forcing back the urge to gag every time I walk past you.


Dear Frying Onions,

Thank you so much for masking the stench coming from the Garbage Bag. Now, do me a favor and remove your stench from my clothes and hair.


Dear Dead Lizard in my Room,

Not to sound heartless, but couldn't you have died elsewhere???

Now I shall have to contact the D.A. so they can identify you and then notify your lizard friends and family of your unfortunate passing. I may or may not attend your funeral.


Dear Sun,

I can't walk outside if you keep shining down all day long. You make it too hot.


Dear Rain,

Stop falling when I am in the middle of my evening walks. That pesters me out of my mind.


Dear Car Which has a Booming Sound System,

You are so not cool, dude. The way your windows rattle every time the music thunders out a beat makes me burst out laughing. Plus, you make me want to raise the auditive level on my MP3 player; I don't need yet another factor that will cause me to go deaf by the time I'm 30.


Dear Cosmo,

Please stop sending me "courtesy" issues of your crap magazine. I have never been, nor will I ever be, interested in reading articles that give out waaaaaaay too much information about potential (and so far non-existent) sexual positions I could try out.

Thanks.

P.S.

You do realize that you've been sending me these magazines in Spanish, right? If you want to make me slightly less grumpy, try sending them to me in FRENCH.


Barb the French Bean