Dear Earl Butter,
Moonpie picked me up at the airport, took me straight to a shoe store, and bought me two pairs of brown boots. The snow was up to my knees, and then it snowed more, and then the snowplow came and buried every single economy car in Pittsburgh. Moonpie and her man were both sick, so that left me and my new favorite 12-year-old, Gabriella, to person the shovels.
It took us two days to find Moonpie’s car. We could have done it in one, except there was pork in the fridge so I kept taking breaks, and Lady G. kept getting visited by her friends and they made tunnels.
After I finally dug her out, Moonpie drove me to a bus stop, and the bus took me back to the airport, and my sister came and picked me up at the airport all over again, so now I’m with my Ohio sisters.
You know this part of the country, Earl. They do things differently here. They do things we don’t do there, such as defrosting the mail and shoveling the roof of my dad’s house. It’s a scary occupation, walking on a roof that’s icy and slanted, but evidently someone has to do it. I’ll let you know if I figure out why.
We chipped the icicles off the gutters too, and they were big and rained around us like arrows, which was almost insanely exciting, but all-in-all I would probably rather be defrosting the mail.
It’s supposed to snow even more tonight. Tomorrow, if it doesn’t snow too much, my sister Car Parts is driving me to the thrift store and we are going to buy All Things Brown.
Earl, I’m going to tell you What’s Up With Brown because I trust and love you, but please DO NOT BREATHE A WORD OF THIS TO ANYONE!!! I feel foolish enough already — and I don’t mean for walking on icy roofs or dislodging 10-pound icicles while looking up at 10-pound icicles. The shrink who dicked me had a phobia of brown textile and, um, well, asked me very early on to lose all the brown out of my wardrobe.
Me, I have a fear of flying. And I fly. I’m just a chicken farmer but I remember asking the shrink who dicked me: wouldn’t another idea be to, I don’t know, get over it? I mean, Earl, do you know how hard it is for a girl to give up an entire color? Not to mention the color that is the color of her eyes and hair? Well, love helps you do things, such as flying, and because I was so oh-so-very-very-devotedly and overflowingly in love — as well as an ass — I did. It.
I gave up brown. Everyone I tell this to is horrified. I’m horrified, but rebuilding. By the time you see me, I should be wearing brown everything. In fact, and ironically, I might have to dye my hair, or risk looking like a doo-doo. Which is so not me.
Dearest U.S. Darling,
That is great. Have I told you about Pizza Love? They are just around the corner from me and they charge regular prices for toppings like artichoke hearts and sun-dried tomatoes, whereas most places charge you double. And did I mention their prices are wicki-reasonable? Sounds so great doesn’t it?
Well, here is the problem, and it’s an odd one: they have such crazy coupons, they make you feel stupid unless you’re ordering two (two!) XXL pizzas with three toppings. Any darn time you want: two XL 18-inch pizzas with up to three toppings, $20.99.
I have enough trouble not eating XL pizzas when no one is looking. I can do it with crappy pizza but Pizza Love’s pizza is delicious, and when it’s such a good deal, you feel proud to eat it. Proud!
But at the same time, not proud. The last few months have not been good to me. Someone posted an old picture on Facebook, and wow. I could see where I used to be at least in the running, but no longer. Old, fat, bald, and — although it doesn’t show in pictures — hopeless.
Oh, boo-hoo, Earl Butter, what a sad story.
Ah, but you are forgetting one thing. The pizza. It’s good!
Mon.–Sun. 11 a.m.–11 p.m.
3348 18th St. S.F.