Open Letters to People or Entities Who Are Unlikely to Respond
Send your nonfictional open letters to firstname.lastname@example.org.
An Open (Love) Letter to Taco Bell’s Crunchwrap Supreme.
They tried to keep us apart, but true love can never be separated for long.
When I first met you, I was younger and more naive. I figured everything from Taco Bell tasted alike. They were all just variations of the same ingredients. How wrong I was. I tried you on a whim. You didn’t seem like anything special. But you were new, and I was hungry. So I ordered you, oblivious to the delight you would bring to my inexperienced mouth.
It was love at first bite. (Pardon the pun, my dear—you have no idea the effect you have on my ability to articulate.) The second your tortilla met my lips, I knew there was no turning back. You had it all! In one compact package, no less. You had the flexibility of a flour tortilla, the firm crunch of a corn tortilla, the freshness of lettuce and tomatoes. Your patches of sour cream were necessary and well spaced. You had meat. Oh, did you have meat. And encompassing all of your features was that nacho-cheese sauce that I can’t get enough of. Most importantly, you catered to my obsessive-compulsive need to have my food be tidy. With all those messy ingredients, I could still hold you with one hand and drive with the other. No napkin needed. I could hardly believe how the stars had aligned to bring us together. It had to be fate, my love.
From that day on, there could be no other. You were my world. When I was hungry, it had to be you. But, as with any good relationship, I grew comfortable. Complacent. And (for this, darling, I hope you can one day forgive me) I began to take you for granted. You were always there when I needed you, and I began to appreciate that less.
I had no idea how deeply I had fallen for you until the terrible day came when you were no longer available. I stood in line, waiting patiently for you like I’d always done. But when I said your name, the cashier responded, callously, “Limited-time item, sorry.” My eyes burned like fire sauce as I fought to keep back tears. I didn’t even have time to say goodbye!
I would still go to Taco Bell occasionally, ordering a Spicy Chicken Burrito or a Mexican Pizza, but it wasn’t the same, and I always thought of you. Only you, my love.
Then, just as I was beginning to accept that maybe, just maybe, you had really left me for good, you returned, as unexpectedly as you had entered my life the first time! I found out from a commercial loudly proclaiming, “The Crunchwrap Supreme Is Back!” I could hardly believe my ears. I wanted to rush out and buy you that second, but it was really late and I had to get up early the next day. But you better believe that the next day, when it came time to eat, I craved you. I needed you and I ordered you. Just seeing you again brought all the memories back. The way you smelled. The way you felt in my hand. And, most importantly, the way you tasted. That first bite, after the long separation, was the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be. Darling, I missed you, and I promise I will never take you for granted again. Please don’t ever leave me. I’m nothing without you.
All my love,
SUGGESTED READSList: Philosophical Fast Food Quotations
by B.R. Cohen (6/1/2001)
List: Things You Don’t Expect to Find on a McDonald’s Reader-Board Menu
by Jonathan Shipley (3/4/2005)
Clucky’s Fried Chickinjections Food Truck
by Jon Methven (5/9/2011)
RECENTLYHow to Write Good Sex Scenes
by Mike Lacher (12/19/2014)
Snopes Investigates the Anderson Family’s Holiday Letter
by Allen Rein (12/19/2014)
@thereal_saintfrancis_: Peace on Earth
by Nick Farrell and Rachel Farrell (12/19/2014)
POPULARProduct Review: The Invisible Backpack of White Privilege from L.L. Bean
by Joyce Miller (12/18/2014)
I Am an Artisanal Attorney
by John Frank Weaver (12/12/2014)
A Farewell to Hemnes: Ernest Hemingway Assembles an IKEA Daybed Frame With Three Drawers
by Jeff Steinbrink (12/2/2014)