✨ ANTI-DORIS SPELL ✨

Everyone thought they needed, but never dared to create:

✨ ANTI-DORIS SPELL ✨

I shall NOT be converted, recruited, casserole-lured, baptized in beige,
or guilt-tripped into the Church of Eternal Passive Aggression™.
I’m not lost. I just hate brunch cults. ✨

You can’t convert a woman who already met the void…
and came back with jokes.

I walk with ghosts, not gossipers.
I cast spells, not judgment.
I talk to plants because—guess what?—they don’t preach.

No, Doris. I will NOT:

• Confess my sins to Carl in socks and sandals
• Join your “Women of Quiet Suffering” circle
• Eat cookies that taste like shame and come with eye contact trauma

My soul is fine.
My chakras are vibing.
My aura is SPF 666 and legally protected. 🧿

And no, St. James, you holy-performance specialist—NO, I will NOT:

• Be preached at by a man who wields scripture like a sword but never learned empathy
• Confess to someone who thinks my eyeliner is rebellion and my silence is obedience
• Accept “leadership” that confuses control with calling
• Be spiritually mentored by a man whose podcast mic is bigger than his empathy 🎙️
• Sit through a sermon titled “Obedient Women & Other Miracles” without hexing the pew
• Join your devotional app, fireproof men’s group, or your monthly subscription to shame
• Take “truth” from a man who calls women powerful but “out of order” when they speak.

Don’t call me rebellious—
I’m just allergic to control.

I’m not your redemption arc.
I’m a healer—not your Sunday project.
A goth, not your church support raccoon. 🦇

You think I’m broken ‘cause I didn’t find God in your Facebook group?
Doris, I found peace in black coffee and petty hexes—and guess what?
It. 👏 Freakin’. 👏 Works.

So take your casserole of control,
your unsolicited prayers,
your beige beliefs,
and your entire suitcase of sanctified judgment…

…and moonwalk out of my aura. 🌕✨

All unwanted energies, projections, and holy-guilt voodoo—return to sender, fully charged and gift-wrapped.

Return to sender. With glitter. 🧂🕯️💅

Imagine being a free, kind, happy human — then they try to turn you into Karen: church every Sunday, hates herself, hates everyone else, gets mad at everything that moves. Yeah, no. I’d rather worship the sun and enjoy every moment of my life.

So how do you react when people come to you with their religious expectations, their preaching, their endless “you should…”?

With humor.

That’s why I wrote this spell. 🖤✨

Wicked Little Letters is a deliciously rude comedy that skewers uptight morals and religious posturing. Sharp, silly, and full of venom, it exposes the mess behind the manners with glee. Small-town scandals have never been this fun.

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