An Open Letter

Rot, Esq.

Enemy of Life and Goodness

1111 All Over Everything in the Kitchen Rd.

9 May 2011

Dear Rot,

I understand that you are responsible for certain things that I enjoy, such as blue Stilton cheese and a planet that is not shoulder-high in undecomposed carcasses. You’re also the inspiration for the words “putrescence” and “fester,” both of which are eminently satisfactory. But my appreciation for a small selection of your oeuvre does not mean I want to invite you for a sleepover and stay up braiding your hair. Your hair is gross.

Actually, all of you is gross. Just look at yourself: Spores. Fungus.* Mildew. Smut. Aren’t you disgusted with your way of life? Do you really think people want to meet someone like that when they break the skin on an orange or dig down to the bottom of the grapes? This is no way to make friends.

Also, do you have to affect every single thing in my kitchen at once? It’s jarring to go from “Don’t you want another pound of cantaloupe with your grapefruit?” to “I guess there’s still canned peaches.”

And the fruit flies were really uncalled for.

While we’re talking here, I do not find it clever when you sneak into bananas in the guise of “overripeness.” I know those soft, brown patches are your minions making way for your arrival. Could you rein in their enthusiasm a little bit? These bananas were so green when I bought them that I wasn’t even going to try eating them for another three days, and now you have them looking like a stack of old boots. I do not appreciate this behavior. My coworkers are refusing to eat any more banana bread.

Furthermore, isn’t the produce enough for you? Why do you have to attack my bread, too? I even find you sneaking up the corners of the fiber muffins I made, and no one else I know will touch them. It’s like you are the personal enemy of my bid for healthy eating. Everything wholesome I bring into the kitchen falls into your rapacious clutches before I can say “avocado sandwich.” If you could find a way to make water decay, I'm sure you would do it.

I would stay and insult you some more, but I have to go find the EZ Cheez and Oreos. I hope you’re happy.

Your victim,

Clara

P.S. I’ve just learned that you are now residing in the ceiling of my hall closet. If I have previously said anything to make you feel welcome, please hear this: STOP VIOLATING MY POSSESSIONS AND GO BACK TO THE COMPOST HEAP WHERE YOU BELONG!

*Note to humans: Do not do a Google Image search for this unless you are fond of Lamisil ads. I threw up in my mouth a little.