Monthly Archives: September 2012

Dear Men Who Hike in Jeans, Button-Down Shirts and Dress Shoes

Dear Men Who Hike in Jeans, Button-Down Shirts and Dress Shoes,

I just have to say that, every time I pass one of you on the trails, deep in the woods on a warm day, I assume that you are there because you either have killed someone or plan on killing someone.

I have only passed two of you, and, to be fair, only one of you was wearing dress shoes.  But, I have to wonder: why the jeans and button-downs in the woods? Why the dress shoes? In what world does this make sense?!

I will admit that I have probably seen one too many episodes of C.S.I., both the Miami and normal varieties.  I’ve also watched my share of The Killing and a variety of suspenseful films involving serial killers and the like (The Bone Collector scarred me for life).  But, really, when you’re getting dressed to traipse about in the woods, does your attire not seem strange to you?

I just think maybe you should think ahead and wear shorts and a t-shirt like normal hikers.

Sincerely,

Chelsea

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Dear Parents Who Refuse to Teach Their Boys How to Cook and Clean

Dear Parents Who Refuse to Teach Their Boys How to Cook and Clean,

I realize that you are working under the completely false security that your son will be mothered and nurtured at college somehow and then married off to the next Martha Stewart (minus the jail time).  But, in reality, you’re just setting your son, and possibly his future wife up for failure.

Let me first make clear the fact that I hold to a traditional view of family.  If I ever get married, I plan to stay at home with my children, nurture and teach them, and keep the house from being a pit of filthy despair by cleaning and such.  I don’t think that roles should be reversed in a family, and I do believe that both the husband and wife roles in a marriage are unique to them for a reason.

However, your sons still need to know how to operate at a basic human level of cleanliness and health.

Why? Well, because, first and foremost, there will likely be time between the day he leaves your house and the day he gets married; also, because his wife may not have been taught very well and may need some help; because his wife could get mono or be put on bed-rest or break all of her limbs in a freak accident involving a marmoset and a bulldozer and might be unable to vacuum or cook dinner for awhile.

But, also because we truly don’t know the future.  Many of us assume that marriage is a default setting, but not everyone gets married.  And not everyone gets married young.  Your son could get married for the first time when he’d sixty.  He could be single all his life.  He needs to be able to keep the filth in his house at bay and cook a week’s worth of meals for himself.

Do you really want your son eating off the McDonald’s dollar menu for forty years? Do you?!

In addition to being able to operate at a normal, functional, clean and healthy level, there is an added bonus to this.  You know those poor, misguided girls who like to mother their boyfriends/fiances/husbands?  They mainly do it because the boys in their lives haven’t been taught how to fend for themselves.  Seriously.  As females, we like to nurture, and when we see a boy at college who hasn’t eaten a proper meal in months and isn’t sure where the button to operate the Swiffer WetJet is, we think, “Oh, you poor thing.  Let me make you spaghetti and brownies and clean that for you.”

Yeah, I don’t know why we do this, but it happens.  And then the natural inclination is to treat the boy in question like a child in many ways.

So, those girls…the ones who have to mother their husbands…they are annoying, right?  They would make horrid daughters-in-law, yeah?  Well, you know how to make sure one of them doesn’t marry your son?

Make sure he can actually live on his own for a few weeks without resorting to eating chili fries for multiple meals in a day.  That way, she’ll have nothing to mother.

Sincerely,

Chelsea


Dear Pumpkin Spice Latte

Dear Pumpkin Spice Latte,

Most everyone I know loves you with an insane passion.  They associate you with the coming autumn months, as well as the lovely weather and pre-holiday fun that those months bring. (What we all did to tell the passing of the seasons before Easter candy, Christmas cookies, popsicles and you, I will never know.)  I have been determined to like you as others have.  I even spent an entire trip to Michigan two years ago trying to track down the perfect Pumpkin Spice Latte. (Panera’s is the best, at least in my experience.)

But, if I am truly honest with myself and you, I have to admit, I don’t actually like you.

At all.

I like pumpkin pie spice, mainly because the spices that make it up are similar to those used to make wassail.  Wassail, as you may not know (in fact, being that you are an inanimate food product, you most definitely do not know), is a mulled cider drink that tastes of apples and cloves and fluffy scarves and angel wings and butterflies and all things warm and good and comforting.

Despite using the same spices, you are a far cry from wassail. You, Pumpkin Pie Spice Latte, taste like warm, sugary milk that someone accidentally knocked a container of spices into.  Most of the time, I can’t even taste the coffee that is allegedly one of your ingredients because you are so weighed down with tooth-achingly sweet syrups and milk.

You’re gross, PSL.

There. I said it.

You don’t taste like falling leaves or crisp, cool air, or firewood burning and crackling.  You taste like a creation made on Bring Your Toddler to Work, Oh, and Also Let Them Create a Signature Drink That We Can Market For Millions Day.

As someone who has considered herself a bit of an autumn enthusiast since childhood, this was a disappointing discovery.  However, I am glad that I can finally admit just how much I dislike you.

Sincerely,

Chelsea