Dear Bigfoot,

I should have brought this up in person, but I organize my thoughts better in the written form.

In short, I’m sick of your attitude. Every conversation I have with you ends in a negative tone. And, frankly, it’s draining. I’m sure you’d say the same of me, but the difference is I didn’t choose to live with you. If you recall, you interviewed for the apartment once, and you didn’t get it. Then you came in several months later, after Reba the police sketch artist had to leave short of the lease term.

Not sure what sort of picture she drew up for you, but the truth is you didn’t get the apartment the first time because I sensed back then that you weren’t the type of person we’d want to live with. Even then I knew you were used to getting your own way and would not be able to adapt to other people’s living styles. Nevertheless, you weaseled your way in. For the last year or so now, Kelly, Dangerous Dave and I have had to deal with you. You’ve put your Big Ass Foot in your mouth on more than one occasion.

We had all been living in this apartment for more than a year before you arrived. We had certain protocol in place that we were comfortable with. Then you came in, barking orders, under an assumed entitlement that magically granted carte blanche to our apartment without respect to those who had seniority over you. You leave your personal and general clutter all over the apartment. There’s hair EVERYWHERE! And you barely help out around said apartment to clean up after yourself.

As far as our shared bathroom, that’s an entirely different issue. I know how you like to bring that up anytime I try to address your shortcomings. If you must know, you are a slob. That’s why I don’t clean up after you in the bathroom. When I had my own bathroom, it wouldn’t get dirty nearly as quickly. You can’t command me to clean the bathroom like I’m one of your pet mountain lions. You may be four feet taller than me, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t hesitate to treat the Bigfoot Crown Jewels like a speed bag, if you ever try to manipulate me again.

In the coming months, you may want to start looking for a new place. You could talk to your friends, Yeti and the Abominable Snowman. Who knows? Maybe one of them has a spare room. Where else would they keep their collection of coolers filled to the brims with cold-filtered Bud Ices? Obviously, we can’t oust you from the apartment, but do you really want to live with three of these people who are not like the other?

(That’s you… Bigfoot.)

LoMein Mike

Dear Big Foot