Letters to Things Vol. I {Ice Cubes, Farts, Evil Oven}

Dear Ice Cubes,
I am sorry for labeling you "ice cubs" as we now call you. 
 We do not mean any disrespect to you or that you are the kiddie-baby-whiner versions of ice cubes, it is just what we do- rename things, laugh about the new name, then continue to use new name.... You are not the first to experience this.

  This does not give you an excuse to show me such betrayal that when I want the last sip in my drink and you are all cram-packed at the bottom, you come crashing down on my face all at once. 

Traitors....... you make me look like a fool as you ALL rush towards my face and spill the last contents you accompany in your glass, the very last contents I was just moments ago trying to savor.

I hope we can work something out.


Love, 
Ashley




Dear Farts of my Fiancé,
Why must you come into this world sound like something that he must refer to as "machine gun farts" and smelling like something that belongs in a dump?
I also need to know why you must always announce yourself so prominently and make your presence known.  It is unbenounced/unbeknownst to me.  Please try to be less-ridiculously outlandish. You are quite intense, and no- not like camping.


-Ashley






Dear Oven, 
When you pop and clang as you warm up, it frightens me and makes me think that whatever I am cooking is STILL ALIVE.  It makes me jump and startles me every.time. 

Please try to warm up less violently or I will be forced to use the toaster oven.  Perhaps this is your ultimate goal- to be used less.  Sorry I am making you feel so used.


Love, 
Ashley