Dear various women who utilize the bathroom on the bottom floor at my office complex,
No really. I don’t care about your period.
Yes, I know all women have periods. Yes, I know they are magical, mystical things. No, I don’t want to hear about yours. I don’t have to know about its length, consistency, or how it gives you diarrhea. I really don’t. I don’t know how I could have possibly given you the impression that I cared, what with the look of abject horror on my face that initiated the moment you began talking about Aunt Flo and/or apologizing for that “horrible smell”.
I just want to pee and blow my nose. Okay?
PS: It’s customary for one to wash their hands when they are done using the facilities. Just FYI.
Dear Person who acts like a huge bitch to me,
You have the same butt as your mom.
Dear lady at the bank,
Okay, so you’re old. I guess that’s your excuse. But when I follow all proper banking procedures for depositing checks that were written to my children, you have absolutely no right to start questioning me out the drive-thru window where God and everybody can hear you.
I’ve banked with you fine folks for seven years now. If you pull up my account information you will clearly see that I have a total of five accounts with you (six if you include my brand-new car loan), two of them with my little children’s names as primary account holders. Since they are not 18 nor can they drive, I have to help them out with their banking needs. I also have to do things like cook them dinner and since you’re so concerned, perhaps you should come and help with that as well. We all like chicken.
Okay and seriously? About half of the kids in this country, even right here in South Knox County, have divorced parents. Therefore, many of the kids have different last names than their parents. This is not unusual. Perhaps it was unusual in 1906 when you were born, but it is not unusual now. This isn’t the Maury show nor do I have to have any kind of DNA tests to verify anything to you. The fact that I haul these children around, pay approximately ten billion dollars a year for their various school activities and to keep them outfitted in blue jeans, and feed them three times a day should be enough proof for anyone that I feel morally and financially responsible for their well-being. If I want to deposit money into my children’s bank accounts I will. If I want to deposit it into my own account and transfer it online into their accounts so I don’t have to fill out three different deposit slips, I will. It is your job to verify that I have the appropriate signatures on the backs and that I filled out my deposit slip correctly. It is not your job to comment on anything else. You were being nosy, plain and simple. And that’s just not cool.
Dear New Job,
I love you and hope to marry you someday.
Kisses for real,
Dear New Car,
Please see the above letter to my New Job. We’ll be like that Sister Wives family or something.
Kisses for real and XM radio and iPod compatibility forevah!
Dear My Body,
No, I really don’t hate you. Even though it’s taken me a staggering 18 months to lose the last 20 or so pounds I’ve lost, I honestly don’t blame you for your contempt. I know that you don’t trust me. Not yet, even though it’s been thirty-five years.
But that’s okay. I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll continue to give you lots of fruit, lots of veggies, and lots of exercise, and you give me whopping 3.2lb losses like you did last week.