Dear Lady With Butt Cleavage at Ralphs,

Holy hell, I don't even know where to start. 

Look, I get it. We're both at Ralph's, not Whole Foods. There is no pretension, you can let your guard down and you aren't judged here, but I feel like you were abusing it a little yesterday. So it's time to judge.

You're barefoot. You sure you wanna be rockin' naked feet in the same Ralph's where I was once stopped outside and warned that a homeless man cut himself in there and there was blood on the floor? At least slap some of those almost-expired hamburger patties on the floor and stand on those. Also, hairbrush? No? Oh, okay.

I'm beating around the bush here, and I apologize for that. The glaring reason I snapped this picture is because you took one of the best things and ruined it for me. That's right, you ruined cleavage.

Thanks a lot. I thought cleavage was un-ruinable, but you proved me wrong. It took everything I had not to flick nickels into that loose change holder you've got back there. Couldn't you feel the breeze from that refrigerator thats keeping the meat cool shooting down that exposed crack? Maybe it feels nice and I'm missing out.

If others find it appealing, I'm sorry. But I would advise them against sticking their arm in there unless they want to get their arm stuck in that crevice in a 127 hours-type situation. Lord knows what else you might find down there, besides other weary traveler's severed arms. And the nickels I flicked.