To Whom It Probably Doesn’t Concern Anymore,

I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you, things have been sooo busy– nope. No. I can’t do this. You deserve better, random coworker I sat next to during my three week internship at Goop. 

You sent me the email in 2012. Back then, we didn’t have politics– only John Greens and The Black Eyed Peas. We didn’t question. We ate Hot Pockets as if they weren’t made of radioactive soot. And we wonder how Bob Ross got cancer… Back then, the only movement to “believe scientists” stemmed from their expertise on the mitochondria and all its powerhouse-of-the-cell capabilities. Back then we thought the greatest ally to ever live was Atticus Finch and David Spade for some reason. Back then we didn’t have the fact check or the plastic flossers or even the Sky Zone. All our trampoline activity had to be OUTSIDE. Can you imagine life in 2012, at the turn of the century? I digress. 

A few months went by and I thought, oh I’ll make up some excuse about my Grandma being sick or my cat losing her virginity. But I couldn’t bring myself to lie after ninety days of nothing. Ninety days of fingerblasting myself into oblivion instead of taking three minutes to respond to your thoughtful and prompt question. 

A few months turned into a few years. You got married. Then divorced. Then remarried. Then re-divorced. Your Dad died (I’m sorry about that, by the way). And then you found out your Mom was the one who killed him, Truman Capote-style, and took her own life when the deed was done, Great Gatsby-style–yeah, I Spark-Noted the general plot to every book I ever had to read in high school. And THEN you found out they were both still alive and the murder-suicide was a ruse so they could flee to Austria and live their polyamorous fantasy alongside Julie Andrews and Dick Van Dyke. What could I possibly have said after that?  “Hey sorry about your numerous family tragedies and your parents’ thespianly queer escape, but to answer your question…” 

A few years became a decade and I don’t even know where we are anymore. My wife left me; Your parents died for real this time on set for The Sound of Music Yodel Leh Hee TWO: The Von Trapps Take Manhattan; Glee got canceled (both literally and politically); We’re in our second year of the most horrible infection to ever hit planet earth (Celebrity Podcasts); Betty White is somehow DEAD; Mitch McConnell is somehow ALIVE; And for a single day people went from shitting on the Post Office to buying all the stamps and envelopes they could stuff into their tiny sedan. 

THIS IS THE WORLD, TOBY– is it Toby? No. Tom? Tom– I think it’s Tom. THIS IS THE WORLD, TOM!!! AND YOU NEED ME TO EXPLAIN WHY YOUR BASIC INQUIRY HAS BEEN LAYING FLACCID, UNTOUCHED, AND ALONE IN MY PRIORITY INBOX FOR TEN YEARS??? YOU WANT ME TO TELL YOU THAT I WAS THE ONE WHO MURDERED JOHN LENNON? IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT? HE WAS HOLDING THE GROUP BACK AND SOMEONE NEEDED TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT, CHRIST ALMIGHTY, ISN’T THAT OBVIOUS? YOU REALLY NEED MY FUCKING CONFESSION TO PUT TWO AND TWO TOGETHER????

No. No you don’t. You need a phone number for your 2009 Blackberry Storm. And I don’t have it. 

Anyway, I hope you’re staying safe in these buckwildly unprecedented and uncertain times. Sending you and your family all the love. Also, are you still working for Goop? I could really use a discount. 

Warmest Regards, 
Maddy