A Letter to Saran Wrap

Saran,

If you could halt your narcissistic attachment to yourself for just a moment, I’ll have you hold onto my words instead.

I stand as the defendant in the case of Saran v. Kellie, a 2014 lawsuit against your violent assault upon my hand. A jury of millions would convict you regardless of ethnic background or city of dwelling, so don’t think you have a chance to escape this guilty verdict. I have an army of lawyers behind me who also have faithfully stuck by your side – some of which recall your conception in 1949, and who’ve been loyal fans since. Yet, you have the audacity to shriven in on yourself and bare your teeth every time we come to your calling. No more of this. I am done.

On a windy, gray Saturday morning, all I meant was to wrap a ball of pumpkin sugar cookie dough into a nice rectangular sheet of you. You, however, are a Gladiator amongst food storage devices. You are stubborn, perhaps because your ego has deflated in the sight of Aluminum Foil, who is doubtlessly more durable than you, and who makes post-cooking cleanup a breeze where you often cause more of a mess than anything else. Please, sit down and learn your place. Aluminum Foil has occupied many a kitchen drawer since 1910, a steadfast companion who is not so self-possessed as you and never attempts to feel up its own body when pulled from the box. He sits next to you in my own kitchen, and if I were you, I’d learn some respect for your elders.

I digress. At 12:00 p.m., I casually reached for you to pull a sheet for my cookie dough. I don’t know if you’re in a particularly bad mood today, as it has been raining and water is known to decrease your efficacy, putting you in a disposition more sour than the pickles in my pantry. Well, guess who’s the sour one now? Your sharp teeth attacked me, not the other way around. The jury isn’t fooled. It was an unprovoked, and fully unnecessary, bite on an innocent thumb.

And what do you do when I swear at you? Fold up and refuse to unfurl for my dough. You could at least apologize and cooperate, then maybe I would not be pressing such charges. We all make bad decisions: mine today was choosing your antagonistic bite over Aluminum Foil’s loud but harmless bark. Yours, well, that’s pretty obvious: Handslaughter. We wouldn’t be here right now if you’d have kept your mouth shut.

I stand before the judge and jury to present my case. Expect many a dark night in your cell, and maybe on good behavior I will call upon your release. In the meantime, enjoy your own company, hug yourself all you want, ball up your fists at me if you will. You will miss me eventually, and stare sullenly out of the drawer as Aluminum is picked up and put back with no complaint. You’ll miss the open air, the freedom, the tasty food around which you used to be wrapped. Assault Upon a Thumb doesn’t sound like such a fun idea in the future, does it?

I can get on without you, but you cannot without me. Who’s the clingy one now?

With regards,

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