Dear Mr. Sedaris,
Long time reader, first time correspondent. I have read many of your books – five in fact, which is a lot when you think about how many authors and books there are out there. I know for sure I’ve read at least five of Ernest Hemmingway’s books, but you know he’s Hemmingway.
I really wanted to reach out to you and tell you that the last book I read Let’s Explore Owl’s with Diabetes was really great, I enjoyed hearing about your 50th birthday and your colonoscopy, your Parisian dentist and your randomly close relationship with a telecommuting sales rep. But I must be honest with you and your essay about the turtles – WTF David (May I call you David?) that is some fucked up shit. And I get it, I do, we all do some crazy stuff when we are kids. Once I…well, I certainly didn’t starve five loggerhead turtles in an aquarium in my bedroom. Or maybe I did, but you know what? I wouldn’t write about it. I mean, maybe I starved dozens of endangered sea creatures in a large open air pit in my back yard, but good god no one will ever know. This is the kind of stuff you only talk about after one too many glasses of wine to the wife of one of your husband’s coworkers that you barely know and then wake up the next morning with a tightness in your chest and realize that you can never go to one of his work parties again.
This is just some friendly advise for your future books – I love you and I honestly hope someone somewhere sometimes utters the phrase, “Have you Read Becca’s book – she’s like a female David Sedaris.”
But I didn’t open up this new email window to compare you to Hemmingway, I wanted to say – David, WTF with the turtles?
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