Satire/Rosie Sorenson

Dear Mr. NSA

I want to thank you for eavesdropping on me. No, really. I’ve long said that what we all need is a “Good Listening To!” And, there you are! Hour after tedious hour tuning into my conversations. For just a few billion dollars, I now know that someone cares enough to listen, really listen to me. And I can assure you that is not an easy commodity to come by, especially from men. But, then, you already know that, don’t you, Mr. Big-Ears, from hearing all those endless chats with my girlfriends.

Ooh — I felt a frisson of love ripple through me just then. Or maybe it was something I ate.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. In gratitude for all your attention and effort, I’d like to “give something back,” as we Americans are so fond of saying. I want to save you time and aggravation by explaining a few things to you.

First, when you overhear me saying to a friend, “I’ve got to take my cat to the vet,” I mean just that: “I have got to take my cat to the vet.” This is not some code phrase for “Please send another suitcase for dirty bomb. Samsonite unacceptable.” Cat. Vet. Got it?

And if I should ever happen to utter late at night a disparaging comment, such as “Death to Republicans,” well, that’s just a figure of speech and not an expression of intent. Why, I don’t even know how to load my second-amendment-protected handgun. I do know how important it is to conserve the energies of the Secret Service, so please — it’s not necessary to send them to my home. The paperwork alone would distract them for weeks.

And another thing — if you should happen to hear my pal, Dr. Bobby and me talk about whips and chains, please take a moment, breathe deeply. You’ll soon discover that what we’re talking about is The Folsom Street Fair in San Francisco (known for its Anything-Goes Celebration of Sexuality), not Guantanamo.

Last, but not least, if you ever overhear me teasing my friend, Carolyn, about her pot farm, what I really mean to say is … well, OK, I really do mean her pot farm, but since when has a terrorist ever succeeded while under the influence, eh?

By now, My Dear NSA Friend, you must know that listening is the ultimate aphrodisiac. Let me repeat that — slowly and with feeling this time: “Listening is the ultimate aphrodisiac.”

If I may be so bold as to suggest that if you’re ever in my neighborhood (and you do know where I live, don’t you, Big Fella), please give me a holler. I might even get Carolyn to bake you some brownies.

Yours in gratitude,

Rosie Sorenson

Rosie Sorenson is a humor writer in the San Francisco Bay Area. You can contact her at: RosieSorenson29@yahoo.com

From The Progressive Populist, November 15, 2021

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