Sunday, August 19, 2012

Open Letters: Yeah. Whatever.

Dear Husband,

Sadly, you are not nearly as funny as you think you are.

No. You aren't. Note how when you say things, people don't laugh. Really. They don't.

Okay sometimes you are hilarious. Like today? When the children insist upon slapping five and I was all like, "What the actual hell children. Does anyone, ANYONE except the two of you, still slap five? It isn't 1970 up in this piece!" and then you said, "Wonder Twin Power, Dorkavate!" Mostly? That was only funny because it was exactly what I was going to say. Word for word.

Also, your inability to use your Smartphone is actually kind of hilarious. Pretty sure that's not on purpose though.

I would not feel it necessary to bring this up except that you absolutely refuse to acknowledge when I say something hilarious. Which is FOREVER.

So. Just so you know.

I still think you are really cute though.

Your wife

PS: Please remember that I tend to move a little more slowly on Sunday nights, so if you are going to cut a huge fart in the kitchen at least wait until I can safely make it up the bonus room and get the door shut. Pretty sure people in Canada were wondering what that noise was a few hours ago.

Dear clothing designers,

Hi! I hate you!

I get it. I'm fat.

Yes, still.

I've lost more than 100lbs and I'm still fat. So fat, apparently, that it's darn near impossible for me to find a pair of slacks that do not have some sort of elastic in the waistband nor a shirt that doesn't appear to be a floral tent.

There is no Lane Bryant in my town. Lane Bryant isn't fabulous or anything, but they try. You know? It's like, "Hey, sorry. We know you are a big fat ass and YOU know you are a big fat ass, but hey! These clothes at least have zippers!" Zippers. They should not be restricted to the Size 5 among us. Also, my town not having a Lane Bryant store does explain why so very many ample sized ladies are meandering about wearing clothing that is approximately twelve sizes too small. Because they don't want to wear the hideous "fashion" that is available in their sizes.

I spent four hours today in an attempt to find a pair of khaki pants that 1) were the proper size 2) did not contain any elastic and 3) didn't have some garish, ridiculous floral pattern all over them. Four hours. I will never get that time back.  I will not tell you have many pairs of pants I tried on and how many times I was close to tears regarding said pants, but it was kind of ridiculous.

This. This is why I shop online.

Bite me!

PS: Maurices, I try so hard to like you but please do not patronize me by calling me a Size 1. On no planet ever will I be an actual Size 1. It's not cute to play pretend. Thank you.

Dear friend,

I can't even with you anymore.


Dear suitcase,

Please pack yourself, fool. And while you are at it, can you make the seven hour drive for me tomorrow? Totes appreciate it.


PS: My toenails could use some attention too. While you're at it.

Dear Food Lion Brand Blueberry Swirl Nonfat yogurt,

You are delightful. Thank you for that.

Love and kisses!

Dear Person I literally cannot stand who is actually not John Edwards and is someone else,

You don't need Twitter. You can just walk around announcing your whole life to everyone all the time.

Oh wait! You already do! All you need is a megaphone so EVERYONE on the entire block can know your business. Actually, scratch that. Your voice carries enough.

You know what else? No one cares! Also? We'd all be ever so appreciative if you'd stick a cork in your pie hole for five seconds so someone else could get a word in edgewise!

Thanks much!

Dear Self,

You might possibly need a vacation.

Judging by these letters? Um. Yes.


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