Dear 2020: An Open Letter

This year so far--and I fully realize we've not yet managed to make it to the end of February--has been a bit of a dumpster fire. We started off full of hope and cautious optimism about all the wonderful things a new year could bring...and as of now, it's definitely shown out. In an effort to get this thing back on the rails, I've written an open letter to 2020. Let's hope this hussy will listen to reason.

Dear 2020,

Hey girl, it's me. I know you're busy stirring the pot in Washington, burning through Australia, and sprinkling that coronavirus around like pixie dust, but we need to talk. I am certainly not one who is opposed to being sassy and feisty, but if you keep going on this way, you are going to wind up sitting alone in the cafeteria. Not only are we going to refuse to let you eat lunch with the cool kids, someone is probably going to spit gum in your hair when you aren't looking. And you will have earned it. You've got to slow down.

You've only had a couple of months to show off--that's less than 8 weeks--and already, you've pulled some punches. The South hasn't seen the sun shine for more than two hours at a time, the Super Bowl commercials were lackluster once again, and even the royals have fallen apart on us. 2020, you've done such a whammy, Harry and Meghan had to STEP AWAY. A man who all too closely resembles Doc Brown from Back to the Future may (Great Scott!) be the Democratic nominee for President. Do you see what you've done? For the love of God, play nicely, would you?

Honey, this is getting out of hand.

I'm not saying it has to all be sunshine and butterfly kisses. But so far this year, I've lost my 17-year old dog (who was both my best friend and my full-time job, leaving me alone and unemployed), nursed my husband through food poisoning and a man cold, watched my beloved Tigers lose the college football national championship game to the LSU Tigers, had no less than six tornados delay a weekend getaway, and endured some incredibly fun home improvement ventures along the way. Heck, when I finish this plea letter, I'm about to head upstairs to clean and disinfect my guest bedroom and bath. My poor mother came for a visit and left with the stomach flu. One minute we were shopping, laughing, and loving life, and the next, we were up to our, er, elbows in Tylenol and Pepto Bismol, and Lysol, oh my! Since burning down the entire house is not an option, I'm going to rent a hazmat suit and get to work trying to remedy the aftermath. There will be germs and probably some tears, but hey: that's 2020, am I right?

In an effort to cheer myself, I perused an article of "20 Things to Look Forward to in 2020." I'm afraid I walked away more depressed than when I started. Do you know what you've got in store for us, 2020? According to my research, your idea of fun is the summer Olympics, the elections (groan), and a Sonic the Hedgehog movie. 2020, you need to raise your standards. At the very least, get that Designing Women reboot moving along, could you?

Right now, those of us living in your year feel you're being just a touch petty, and a dash spiteful. There's no need to flex all your muscle right out of the starting gate. Tomorrow is national margarita day, so maybe, 2020, you can just sip your cocktail, let your hair down, and relax a bit. Try showing us your softer side, and hopefully we can even learn to like each other before the year is over. I hope you can think about what you've done, talk to Jesus about it, and get right with yourself and the Lord. This I ask for all our sakes, have mercy, amen.

Take it easy (for real),

All of Us

2020, you've already outdone yourself. So QUIT.