An open letter to my parents, with whom I am now living

Oh hey guys. I just saw you a few minutes ago in the family room.

First of all I wanted to thank you for allowing me to broadcast my show from your living room and/ or kitchen. I appreciate it and I will give you a couple points on the back end once I figure out what that means.

Recently something has come to my attention though, which I can remain silent about no longer. It’s that you hang two fly swatters on a hook attached to the inside of the pantry door where you keep the garbage.

Exhibit A: the pantry (no indication of the Jack-in-the-box of swatters concealed within)

This is where the fly swatters live, which is fine. I’m sure the insect world is very aware and frightened of you two vigilantes keeping their population in check. If bugs had terrorist threat levels our house would be code red and tiny swatter-sniffing fleas would be nosing up against the pantry doors. My problem is not with the swatters so much as their placement.

Due to the laws of physics (an object in motion tends to stay in motion and also centrifugal force), the mere act of opening the pantry door launches these swatters up and away from their hooks, their balletic arc impeded only by contact with an object: me. They are essentially daughter swatters.

Exhibit B: swatters

Not only that, as I am the one who often is asked to take out the trash which involves leaning down and pulling the bag out of the can, my face is at prime swatter level. Taking out the trash for me involves a delicious one-two punch of trash smell and then bug guts. It’s as if I never left New York.

I’m hoping we can move the swatters because if they attempt frottage with my body or face one more time, they’re going to accidentally end up in the trash.

Thank you.

Alison