>Dear Blow-Hard at 61, Saturday night:
Your guests would certainly rather order a drink from me than listen to you recount endless tales of your investment property woes, but since you won’t shut up every time I’m near the table, even if I linger uncomfortably for several seconds, they can’t. Bet this is why you “never see them anymore.” Can’t wait to see who you bring in next time to bore to a sober death!
Dear Guy at Large Party, All of Whom Ordered Coffee:
Half caf, half decaf?
Dear Dumb Girl With Her Rich Parents,
When I opened your white wine and did that little banter about it being too cold right now but with a little warming up, it would be beautiful and have all these crazy aromas, and then you immediately asked for ice as if you hadn’t heard a word I’d said, it made me realize why your first three husbands will leave you. Miss yer guts!
Dear “Food Writer” for Free Local Magazine Your Daddy Gave You Money to Start,
Every time you begin a paragraph with subject-verb disagreement, it makes me smile. Good thing it’s every single fucking time! I also really enjoy your 2nd grade command of words, such as …pastas paired with expertise sauces. Whee! Journalism is fun! Maybe next you can be president.