An Open Letter to the Thief Who Steals My Jewelry Box

Dear Sir or Madame,

In response to some recent break-ins, our neighborhood has met and formed a neighborhood watch. The first meeting was eye-opening. The coordinators shared things that Sneaky McSneakersons tend to look for when planning their next big heist. Toys in the yard apparently attract thieves because where there are kids, there are video game systems. I won’t deny that we have one. (I’m sure you’ll get a pretty penny for our Super Nintendo, once you’ve knocked off all the dust and vacuumed out the kitty litter. And shaken out the goldfish crackers. And after you replace the left controller that hasn’t worked right since someone dropped it in the aquarium.)

Then we went around the room sharing any experience we’ve had with theft and vandalism. All three robbery victims reported the same thing; that their jewelry boxes had been stolen. I was shocked and horrified I knew then that I needed to write you this letter. I owe you a bit of an apology.

You have clearly gone to a lot of trouble to get to this point. You’ve made it past alarm and canine, braved the gauntlet of snake cages, maybe even turned an ankle on the assorted Legos decorating my floor, and for what? My jewelry box. Yeah, about that.

I’m sorry about my necklaces. I found most of them at thrift stores. Some of them may turn your neck green, but a scrub with baking soda will take it off. A little cocoa butter will clear the rash right up. And if you have any food allergies, best avoid eating the macaroni necklace.

Sorry about the little suede bag of baby teeth, too. If you’re not a parent yourself, it can seem a little ghoulish to hang on to them. If you are a parent, you’ll know just how precious every little piece of their childhood is. Even though I’m not totally sure which tooth came from which kid.

I am sincerely sorry for my ring collection. If I were wearing those mood rings right now, you could see just how sincere I am. And don’t get too excited about that other one with the sparkly blue stone. It’s not real. In fact, it may actually be rock candy. My bracelets won’t bring you much, either. Except the Grim Reaper silly band. You may be able to get something for that one. I know my son will give you three Harry Potter silly bands. Of your choice. So there’s that.

But I am the most deeply apologetic for the brooch made out of elephant dung. It was a gift. I won’t even try to explain. But it’s environmentally friendly, and I swear it doesn’t smell. Just don’t get it wet and you’ll be fine. It would dress up your orange jump suit and make you look real pretty.

You could try again in about ten years when I’ve really made it as a writer. I might have some better stuff then. But probably not. After all, you’re talking to the person who kept a piece of jewelry made out of elephant dung. For five years. My financial clout may improve, but my taste probably won’t. Sorry for your trouble.

Respectfully yours,

Heather

PS: If you have the time to sort your loot before the police arrive, would you be so kind as to leave behind the macaroni necklace and the baby teeth? Those things are priceless.