You and I go way, way back. You didn’t know that, but we do. So I just have to let you know: your habits in the kitchen have been worrying me.

It all came to a head when you were making breakfast for dinner last night, which, by the way, is such a creative idea to liven up a Thursday evening. As usual, I hid out behind your shed until dusk. I came over to the window when I saw the kitchen light turn on and heard the Mumford & Sons playlist that you only listen to when you’re alone, even though there’s no shame in stomp, clap, hey. Things were going well until you used a metal fork to scramble the eggs… on a nonstick skillet. Ugh! I couldn’t believe the recklessness of it. Who does something like that?

Our evenings together are usually the most relaxing part of my day. You, winding down with a glass of vino, and me, crouching in the arbor vitae. This was the first time I felt like I was witnessing something I shouldn’t be seeing. Watching you scrape up that chemical coating was disturbing. You’re mainlining carcinogens into your bloodstream—you know that, right?

In the moment, I was so worried that I almost snapped a bird’s neck and threw it against the sliding glass door. That’s how I got your attention the last time you put hot food into a plastic takeout container. Which reminds me, you really need to buy glass Tupperware. It’s not expensive and it’s so worth it. Maybe I’ll gift you a couple pieces from my set. I can leave them in a cardboard box marked “FREE” next door. We both know that you always stop to look in those. Personally, I find it a bit gross.

And don’t get me started on the plastic cutting board! With all those PFAs and microplastics, your balls are probably full of credit cards by now. It’s definitely time for you to replace it. I remember when you bought that thing three years, two months, and nine days ago. We went to Target, and I watched you from the next aisle and stood two people behind you in line. Time flies! But back to your cutting board: do me a favor and go with bamboo next time.

I have to say, you make your fair share of questionable decisions. For example, not padlocking the exterior entrance to your crawl space. Though, even if you did, it would just give me an excuse to break my bolt cutters out of cold storage. Of course, I would have to replace it with my own lock with the same make and model, but that’s what Amazon is for.

Also, can we talk about your sheets? I noticed that you swapped the old ones out for a set of polyester atrocities. Don’t they feel weirdly slick to you? I know I was slipping around last night—it felt like I was going to slide right off the bed! Did you even check the blend percentage? It had to be like 70% rayon. Please, just go back to the cotton pair. I didn’t mind that they were getting a bit threadbare. That made them feel even more comfortable, to me anyway.

All this to say, some of this stuff can actually be dangerous. I would appreciate it if you would start taking better care of yourself. I do what I can, but I don’t want to overstep your boundaries. That’s why I wrote this letter using words cut out of magazines and not in my own blood. But hey, that’s just who I am. I’m always looking out for you.