Suzanne S.

Dear Suzanne S.,

People are afraid of you. I was kind of afraid of you when you attacked me. You didn't know me, you had never officially met me, and you personally attacked me. You called me names. You should look up the names you call people because it was pretty funny how you misused the central pejorative in your attack, but that's not my point.

My point is that you walked into a place where people were sparring and shot everyone in the room with pistols. While I was poking someone in the ribs with my finger, you took to my knees with a sledge hammer. Maybe your tendency to overreact is why people are afraid of you. I know you were trying to stick up for your friend, but as admirable as that is, you only succeeded in escalating a tiff into a rivalry and hatred, which was uncalled for.

I mean, I was just talking about how I felt about something that happened to me. I purposely didn't use anyone's real name so that Google wouldn't find out about the thing and hit it on an ego surf. But you weren't there, and I don't think you had any reason to go crazy on me the way you did, vaguely threatening people who work with me. It was gross.

But I forgive you. I know that sometimes people freak out when they are angry because I freak out when I am angry sometimes. I say stupid things when I am hurt or upset. And I am sorry that what I said hurt or upset you. I never called you names, though.

So the last thing is that I hope you will consider wearing fewer animal products. Leather counts. There are lots of jokes that I would like to write about people who wear black leather, but I want these last posts of the year to be taken as sincere, so I won't do it anymore.

Yours in the new year,

Jack Morgan