Open Letters

I have long been a fan of open letters. I like people, and inanimate objects, to know exactly what I am thinking. Sometimes, even if there is no one else around, I will find myself composing letters in my head of things that simply must be said. Here is a collection of letters I wrote today:
Dear thick black plastic horned rimmed-glasses,

I have seen approximately one million of you since I came to Seoul. You are very in vogue right now, and you should be very proud of yourself. From the most hunchbacked grandmother, to the long-limbed, stylish baggy sweater wearing teeny boppers, to the infants made impossibly wide-eyed by your wearing, you make everyone look awesome. One might think that repeated exposure to you (I see you about 90 times a day on the bus rides alone) might make me grow tired of you, but it's not true. I like you more than ever right now.

Can I tell you something personal? When I was a little girl, I used to pray that God would blight my eyesight, so I could wear glasses. Later on in life, I laughed about this... But Oh, beautiful big glasses, you make me want this more than ever.

Longingly,
Renee

Dear 100,000 dissolute looking smokers at KU,

Men: I understand the desire to look disreputable! Some days I look in the mirror and think, "I wish I looked a little bit more disaffected and misunderstood. I wish I looked a little more dangerous." When I feel this way, here is what I do: I wear plaid pants and combat boots. Instantaneously, I feel like a miscreant.

Please stop smoking! You so nasty! Just wear some scruffy looking leather and scrunch your shoulders down a little, and you will look so rakish and tired of life that all the girls will want to ride motorcycles with you.

your friend (and fashion advisor),
Renee

PS: Also, some of you dissolute smokers wear gold chains. Don't. I'm just sayin'.

Dear Renee,

Oh my goodness, you have the brains of a fermented squid. Please stop losing your crap.


Dear Kyochon chicken,

You make me want chicken more than I've ever wanted any chicken in my life.

Except for Ginger. That was an evil chicken that woke me up at repeatedly earlier times every morning. I had a bloodlust out for that chicken that outweighs any lust I've ever felt for Super Junior. But seriously, every day when I pass your store I whisper, "Dear Siwon, I'd buy chicken from you anyday."

Your buddy,
Renee B.

The next open letter was a particularly special one, because the item that I addressed the open letter to wrote an open letter back to me:

Dear Sweater,

I thank you for keeping me warm this morning when it was cold, but now you are hot and itchy. I am going to walk behind this apartment complex and change into a stripy shirt that I just bought because stripy shirts are almost as popular right now as those eighties throwback black plastic glasses.

Love,
Renee

*Said in impossibly stuffy British accent*

Dear Renee,

It's quite alright for you to discard of me, and even for you to put me into a small and sweaty bag as I know you intend to do. Please look fetching in your striped shirt.

Cordially,
Sweater Smithson-West the third.

Dear Sweater,

Thanks so much for your understanding. I promise to don you again once the weather warms up a bit.

Love and hugs,
Renee

Dear Renee,

I look forward to the occasion.

-Sweater.