A Letter to Lettuce
Dear Lettuce,
I’m writing to ask you to please keep your distance. I’ve tried to live in peace with you, but it’s become clear to me that that just isn’t going to work, and keeping our distance going to take work from both of us.
I suppose I owe you an explanation.
Ever since we first met, I’ve just never been that crazy about you. In fact, your popularity has puzzled me. I mean, you’re not bad, but you’re not really anything, are you? You don’t taste like anything. Nor are you filling. I think I could eat an entire head of you and only feel hungrier than I was before. In a salad, you skate by only due to the presence of dressing. In fact, given your lack of taste and fillingness, I have for some time now believed that you are for most people only an excuse to eat dressing.
It has also always been problematic between us, Lettuce, when it comes to cleaning you. Sure, putting you in a colander and tossing you around under some running water washes away the dirt, but will do nothing for the bacteria which we’re constantly reminded could be clinging to you these days. What am I supposed to do? Scrub every one of your individual leaves? I’m sorry Lettuce, but I don’t have that kind of time. Your pay-off is just too little.
Lest you think I just have a problem with all of your type, let me go on to tell you that for a long time now, I’ve been a big fan of the cucumber. Cleaning is as easy as peeling, and the Greeks have shown us that your role in salad can be wholly accomplished by cucumber, and with much more satisfying results. A quick glance at the right websites will show you that the cucumber’s uses are many and varied. Easy to prepare, and with a delicious, mild taste, it’s basically everything you aspire to be but can’t. Why can’t you get your act together like that, Lettuce? Why can’t you be more like the cucumber?
I’m sorry. That’s not fair, to compare you to the cucumber. You are what you are, and I am what I am. And it’s just not going to work. That’s why I think we should end our relationship, once and for all. I’ll stop buying you, thinking that this time maybe it’ll be different. And you stop showing up unexpectedly in my sandwiches, or on the side of my plate. You do your thing, and I’ll do mine, and never the twain shall meet. I hate to end it this way, but I think it’s the only way it’ll work.
Best of luck for the future, Lettuce.
Sean
I’m writing to ask you to please keep your distance. I’ve tried to live in peace with you, but it’s become clear to me that that just isn’t going to work, and keeping our distance going to take work from both of us.
I suppose I owe you an explanation.
Ever since we first met, I’ve just never been that crazy about you. In fact, your popularity has puzzled me. I mean, you’re not bad, but you’re not really anything, are you? You don’t taste like anything. Nor are you filling. I think I could eat an entire head of you and only feel hungrier than I was before. In a salad, you skate by only due to the presence of dressing. In fact, given your lack of taste and fillingness, I have for some time now believed that you are for most people only an excuse to eat dressing.
It has also always been problematic between us, Lettuce, when it comes to cleaning you. Sure, putting you in a colander and tossing you around under some running water washes away the dirt, but will do nothing for the bacteria which we’re constantly reminded could be clinging to you these days. What am I supposed to do? Scrub every one of your individual leaves? I’m sorry Lettuce, but I don’t have that kind of time. Your pay-off is just too little.
Lest you think I just have a problem with all of your type, let me go on to tell you that for a long time now, I’ve been a big fan of the cucumber. Cleaning is as easy as peeling, and the Greeks have shown us that your role in salad can be wholly accomplished by cucumber, and with much more satisfying results. A quick glance at the right websites will show you that the cucumber’s uses are many and varied. Easy to prepare, and with a delicious, mild taste, it’s basically everything you aspire to be but can’t. Why can’t you get your act together like that, Lettuce? Why can’t you be more like the cucumber?
I’m sorry. That’s not fair, to compare you to the cucumber. You are what you are, and I am what I am. And it’s just not going to work. That’s why I think we should end our relationship, once and for all. I’ll stop buying you, thinking that this time maybe it’ll be different. And you stop showing up unexpectedly in my sandwiches, or on the side of my plate. You do your thing, and I’ll do mine, and never the twain shall meet. I hate to end it this way, but I think it’s the only way it’ll work.
Best of luck for the future, Lettuce.
Sean