Dear Sir/Madam

To know me is to know that if there is something that makes me unhappy, I will write a letter about it. It began in fifth grade, carried away in fit of environmentalist activism, I wrote to the Harriet Carter catalog to suggest that they stop selling a halon fire extinguisher because it was bad for the ozone layer. I think I dramatically insinuated that Harriet threatened the health of my future grandchildren. Let's count it a victory because while you can purchase the Bra Baby, $15 Pet Monument, and the waist extender from the HC catalog, nary a fire extinguisher is found. Your grandchildren can thank me later.
I also wrote to the Philadelphia Department of Sanitation when I found myself in stop-and-go traffic behind a trash truck with no brake lights, and to various senators and congressmen, most recently on the topic of gay marriage. (They never write back.) I did get a form letter from Bill Clinton once when I wrote to him.
My missives do not always carry scorn and discontent. I wrote to British TV presenter Jon Snow to tell him how much I liked his colorful ties. In return I received a hand-written note from Mr. Snow himself. I was ecstatic. (Yes, I'm a nerd.) Mom suggested that maybe he thought I was an attractive single young woman and this prompted the personal attention. (As a young teen my response was likely, "Ew, he's old.") I understand that since we moved away from England Jon has had to bring fancy socks into the repetroire as the TV set has changed, presumably now revealing his tootsies. I got a free magnet when Quaker found out how much I liked their Nutrition for Women oatmeal. I hate the little dried fruit pieces in normal oatmeal that are supposed to revive with boiling water. The NforW line features yummy flavors (Vanilla Cinnamon!) that don't rely on leathery fruit being reincarnated. And to believe their advertising, NforW provides me with 50% of my daily calcium.

However, it was a wardrobe concern that prompted my most recent letter, to Ms. Ann Taylor. I bought this lovely silk blouse, pictured. On its first day out, three of the tiny buttons fell right off! Making a professional and "buttoned-up" impression is not sucessful when your buttons are falling off in three locations up and down your torso. I rescued one button before it could roll down the floor of the train car on my way home, and another I found just last night next to the door jamb of our apartment, suggesting that Little Button didn't even survive long enough to experience his first day of fresh working-day air. For a $50+ blouse, you'd think the buttons might function. We'll see what Ann has to say for herself. I'm hoping for a coupon, but I'd definitely settle for a few more replacement buttons. (She only provided one, and I'm certain more buttons might fly if I don't reinforce them all.)