An Open Letter to Martha Stewart, or “I Ain’t Goin’ Back to Jail.”

I laughed so hard. So hard, guys. Just read it. Please.

Not a Day Over 45

Dear Martha Stewart,

I am writing to ask you, gently yet firmly, to stop contacting me via email and the U.S. Postal Service.

Our friendship, perhaps our co-dependency, was forged in a much different time for both of us.  Somewhere around 1996, I fell in love with your organizational skills, your quaint yet elegant homes, and your intricate fonts.  You fell in love with my $9.95 per year.

To me, you were the epitome of what I longed to be.  I was very desperate to be something other than what I was at the time.  I was trying to ignore my husband’s indiscretions, trying to ignore our problematic financial situation, trying to ignore my underemployment, my stress eating, and my lack of intellectual stimulation. I have to admit, Dear Martha, that I was simply using you as a distraction from my lackluster existence.

It’s not that you weren’t an important…

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