I care about you all deeply, but it’s time for a serious conversation that might leave you a bit stunned. Yes, I’m addressing you, my wonderful partner and our teenager. The ongoing habit of meddling with my belongings has gone on for far too long.
I’ve been too passive about the erosion of my personal space because I failed to establish clear boundaries. Reflecting on this, I realize I did set some guidelines, but they were largely ignored. It should be common knowledge that my possessions hold the same value as anyone else’s. To be honest, I don’t have many things. When we transitioned from Atlanta to Philadelphia, it became glaringly obvious how little was truly “mine” — just four boxes of books and a couple of seasons of clothing. And let’s be clear: don’t even think about calling the “household items” mine, or I might just lose it. That kind of thinking is outdated and simply unacceptable in this home.
Do you remember the time I treated myself to a new car only to find the metal handlebars of a bicycle with training wheels had scratched both doors? Or when I lent it out, only for it to return with a crack in the windshield? And who can forget the time little hands turned the interior into a canvas for their “artwork”? The fact that both of you are still alive and well is a testament to my overflowing love.
I’ve watched good body wash disappear down the drain like it’s nothing, Talenti gelato vanish from the freezer because apparently I “took too long,” my iPad commandeered, headphones go missing, and my nail polish wrecked. Even my last Diet Coke has mysteriously vanished overnight. And don’t get me started on my Netflix profile, which is now cluttered with shows I don’t watch, with my name changed to “Betty Big Boobs.”
As someone who values taste, I can’t abide the thought of anyone — least of all Netflix — thinking I voluntarily watch anime. Both of you know how much I detest the name Betty, preferring Liz or Mom. And let’s be real: I have no humor about this, as Netflix is constantly judging, and you two are ruining my future recommendations.
I’ve been a good sport about all of this, but there’s one thing that simply cannot continue, and that stops now. The Nutella is mine and mine alone. It’s my little jar of happiness, and it is off-limits. No putting it on waffles, no Nutella on toast, no finger dipping — just pretend it doesn’t exist in your world.
I will not hide my Nutella, nor will I eat it in secret. Everyone else’s things are out in the open, and I expect the same respect in return. And if I happen to forget to replace my Nutella, then consider it a death sentence for your souls if you dare touch the Tostitos queso. Remember this well; the stakes are high.
Thank you both for understanding. I truly love you. (But not enough to share my Nutella.)
With love,
Big Boobs
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Summary
This letter humorously addresses the issue of personal boundaries within a family, particularly concerning shared possessions. The author lovingly confronts their partner and child about their disregard for personal items, specifically emphasizing the sacredness of their Nutella. It highlights the importance of respect for individual belongings while maintaining a light-hearted tone.