I imagine that upon my death, people will compile a collection of my letters to the world and study them for hidden meanings. I also expect to win a lot of awards posthumously. Though I wouldn't mind some pre-action.
Dear Cashier:
Please refrain from opening my shampoo bottle, sniffing it, and exclaiming "That smells so good," during price check. Thank you kindly.
Dear Bus Driver:
Try, oh do try not to drive the bus when I am walking in front of you. It makes me very nervous.
Dear Mother:
There are inches, centimeters, and even palm lengths. But "sock deep," is not a helpful unit of measurement. I don't know how deep the flowers are to be planted.
Yours sincerely,
Killing time until office hours are over
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