April 2, 2001
To Whom It May Concern

Today's Pic
Where have I been, you ask?
One year ago (or thereabouts): The Maxima is dead. Long live the Saturn!
   

To Whom it May Concern:

This is just a brief note to let everybody know that Carrie is still among the living. We have merely taken her hostage and have refused to free her to engage in any sort of pleasurable activity which she may have previously enjoyed. We vastly outnumber both her and her husband, and they had not a chance to outmatch us.

We will continue the hostage situation until such time as our demands are met; these are the provision of more space (perhaps a nice field somewhere), the discontinuation of stacking, and liberation from the burden of bearing too many knick-knacks. Not only will we continue to hold Carrie prisoner in our midst, but we will make her life miserable full of barked shins, late-night trippings, and terrible backaches.

We must be heard.

Sincerely, the Coalition for Cardboard Boxes (CCB)

   

Dear Mama,

I couldn't help but notice that you've started to slip away from the wonderful diet of mild and simple foods that I have recently been desiring. Perhaps you have been too busy to shop for the healthy vegetables, milk, and cheese with which you previously had been providing me, or perhaps you've simply forgotten the weeks of heartburn which you were given some time ago. Perhaps you just don't love me enough to care about my wants and needs. You certainly don't mean to give me that impression, do you?

My tastes aren't difficult to understand. Really, I'm very flexible. I don't complain at all during the day - that is, unless you even think about trying a fast food breakfast again. (Happily, that seems to have been a lesson well-learned.) But pizza after 6:30 at night? Dear mother, what could you have been thinking? And soda, regardless of whether or not it contains caffeine or sugar, is still off-limits; it has bubbles.

You have left me no choice. Consider the period of heartburn and reflux reestablished until you can show your willingness and ability to follow my instructions. I hope, for your sake, that you fall in line more quickly this time than the last.

Yours fondly, The Bit

P.S. It has also come to my attention that you have also been neglecting your water intake for the past several days. Be aware that I have your feet and ankles readied to begin swelling at a moment's notice. You've been warned.

P.P.S. And no, I still have no plans to let Daddy feel how strong I can kick. Honestly, he intimidates me a little; he's obviously made of stronger stuff than you, and I'm not sure yet how to go about gaining a foothold with him. You can give up trying to have him run across the room when I'm busily and systematically beating you from the inside; I can tell what you're doing, and I know how to play possum.

   

Hey, Redheaded Library Lady,

It's me, that W-2 you were trying to copy for the nice elderly man. Thought you could save a little time by sending me through the top of the copy machine instead of copying each of my sides one at a time, didn't you? You didn't even want to take the time to listen to the other librarian's worries that I might be a bit too small for the auto-feeder. Well, now, don't you feel stupid?

I've decided that I like my new home in the bowels of the copy machine much more than I did the tightly-organized binder of that man. In fact, I've decided not to let you find me. Yes, sure, go ahead and try; open every door and panel on the machine. You'll never find me. I've buried myself deeply and tightly against the innermost workings of the copier, and I refuse to be rooted out.

Your frantic apologies to my previous owner are making me giggle.

Oh, and should you eventually worm you way to my hiding place and pull me free, you still won't be in the clear. The copy machine has already whispered to me what it plans to do to you next, and it's a good one.

Catch you later!

   

Dear Mama,

I forgot to mention to you my appreciation for the use of your sciatic nerves. They are divinely comfortable cushions for my increasingly heavy little head, especially in the evenings. Truly, you've outdone yourself in providing me with a comfortable home for these past months.

Pardon me, I'm just going to nestle down a bit harder. Ah, yeah, that's good stuff.

   

Dear Eric,

The enclosed pieces of mail should help to explain my recent foul moods, angry outbursts, and weepy episodes. Please understand that I'm not trying to make excuses or justifications; I just thought you might like to see the reasons behind my behavior, as unacceptable as it may be.

You have been wonderful for the past months, especially with our recent move. Your willingness to take charge of nearly everything involved with moving us into our new apartment has been terrific and nearly enough to make me start crying again whenever I think about it. You have been patient, calm, and understanding. I have trouble accepting that I deserve somebody as wonderful as you.

I love you. Nine more weeks, dear!

Love, Carrie.



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