Yesterday Mr. Jenny brought the mail in and said, "You have a rejection letter from the New Yorker."
I opened the envelope up and here's what was inside.
I feel pretty certain this is not a real rejection letter and here's why:
1. My name is not on this letter.
2. I got this letter two weeks after sending in my little short story manuscript. Sure, I sent it in the world's coolest envelope with the world's coolest little insert to be sure and catch their eye, but I've heard that they take around 6 weeks just to get through the backlog of submissions.
And 3. There are teeth marks in the upper left hand side of this letter. You may have to click on the letter to see them, but they are definitely there. OK, there is a small possibility the teeth marks are mine, but still.
I'm certain, in fact, that the wrong letter got inserted into the envelope they had addressed to me.
This is the letter I'm positive they meant to send:
Your writing was so amazing we do not feel our publication is good enough to publish it.
We were astonished you would lower yourself to send it to us.
We will be forever grateful.
Sincerely and with highest regards,
The New Yorker
See? It's all about reading between the lines.
I feel so much better now.