Dear Woman in Target:
I promise I didn't walk over just to fart next to you and then leave.
I know it must have seemed that way, as I sidled up next to you, dropped a wee stench bomb, and then casually but quickly fled. Honestly, I would've stayed and browsed the products, but, well, see previous sentence.
I owe you a huge apology.
Sincerely (and I mean that),
Stealth Target Fartknocker
Dear Driver Sort of Next to Me in Rock Creek:
It probably seemed like I was racing to get in front of you before the lanes merged like one of those doucherockets who always has to be in front in the merge. And that is really annoying, I know.
The thing is, I was just trying to not run into the cement wall thingy.
See, it looked like there were two lanes for longer than there actually were, and then suddenly and inexplicably (or, OK, perhaps explicably, but still) my lane, which still had, you know, lane lines, was about to stop being a lane and started being a wall. It was only because the nose of my car was ahead of yours.
I mean, let's be honest. Nobody who drives an old Civic has any illusions of outrunning a BMW.
All the best,
Driver Who Needs Lanes and Has an Aversion to Cement Walls
Dear Man in the Gym Who Scurried to Get to the Machine I Was Using:
So, I was torn between starting another set and going to get water before doing so, and water won out.
It's a small gym, so you knew what I was doing. You wouldn't have scurried otherwise. I know this because while giving you the intermittent stinkeye for a sustained period of time, I observed that you sauntered to your other machines.
But back to the pull-down machine. My towel was on the fucking seat. Because my ass was going to sit itself on the towel within 30 seconds. You moved my towel, and put yours down. For a moment I thought about saying something, but then thought, really? I can just do another machine and come back to this one. Which is what I did.
I did, however, stinkeye you as I picked up my towel. You didn't look my direction at all.
Unfortunately, I was unable to conjure one of the broccoli farts that had been brewing since lunch. I do so wish I could fart on command. I got pretty close, and you may have wondered what I was up to.
I'll succeed one of these times. I may not retain facts for more than 15 seconds, but my emotional memory is spectacular. And I eat a lot of fiber.
Good luck with your manners,
Woman From the Gym Who Harbors Stinky Grudges
Dear Man in the Elevator:
When I said I was following you, I wasn't really. I mean, I don't even know you.
The thing is, sometimes when the elevator stops, I just get out. It's because I'm not paying attention, so the doors open and I'm all, a floor! Must be mine!
So when I realized and then said, "I'm following you! Clearly I'll get out anywhere!" I was just joking.
There was no need to look horrified. Didn't you notice that I immediately pushed the button to call another elevator?
That said, watch your nose. You never know when I might have some butter handy.
Woman Who Should Take the Stairs