Brought to you this evening by my stellar, cheerful mood, and also the little bit of questionable alcohol I found in the way back of my fridge. And we all know that these are the classic ingredients for true wisdom (even if I did type that as “widsom” the first four times). Also by my deep abiding love of alliteration which is so very magnified in my tipsy state. Yay!
Dear adult humans unfortunate enough to possess a Y chromosome and not be married,
Stay the hell away from me. I do not understand you, and apparently I either scare you or piss you off. Either way, clearly we are not meant for one another. A few handy parting tips, should you choose to pursue other members of my species, however: “I’ll see you soon” generally means you plan to contact me sometime in the forseeable future. None of the women (or even the other MEN) I polled seemed to feel this was any sort of accepted slang for “I will neither contact you nor respond to the two messages you have left for me for over a week.” My biggest regret now is only that I did not order something much more expensive for lunch. If you desire my company, please go ahead and get married. To someone else. Because that apparently renders me irresistable. And I need to be a little bit drunker to think about why that is so disturbing. So.
[Is it too late to ask Santa to bring me a Battery Operated Boyfriend? (Dad, I’m kidding. Also sort of drunk. Did I mention kidding? Let’s pretend you didn’t read this.)]
Dear all my friends who are too damn busy to return my calls,
I will forgive you and probably not all that far in the future, but right now, you are not my favorite people. It’s not like I’ve been there for you in hard times so… oh wait, yes I have. Nevermind.
Dear Office Depot,
Thank you very much for your stackable coupons, freebies, and free next-day delivery. I didn’t really imagine, years ago, as a young girl, that I would one day be saying to someone that my day was not all bad on account of I just received a case of paper and a free suitcase for $10. No, I had not dared to think that far ahead and dream such grandiose dreams, but reality is sometimes surprising, that way. Yes, knowing that the children can color to their hearts’ content without stealing my printer paper for the next year is a good thing. As is the very lovely suitcase that I will never be using because oh yeah, I don’t ever go anywhere. But it was free. And free is happy.
Dear children of mine,
I love you very much. I’m sorry I yelled at you tonight. Although, for future edification, the “Consequence Jar” is not meant to be fun, and I still make the rules around here. Yes, really. And if you’d like to do an extra chore you could just DO it or ASK and not, you know, deliberately cause me to have a mini-stroke over some inappropriate behavior just because you’d like to use the Dustbuster, okay?
Dear Laura Ingalls Wilder,
It’s a good thing that you’re already dead. I mean, I love your books and all, but my children are now terrified of blizzards. Terrified. And I don’t know how to convince them that this is not the wide open prairie and they are unlikely to have to twist hay into little loglets to burn for warmth. Also I have noticed that the chapters in your books vary wildly in length, thus rendering the one night they really need to get to bed early the night that I hit the chapter that’s 30 pages long. Jesus.
Dear “Jobfinder” section of my local paper,
You are a complete waste of space. That is all.
Dear Vivelle Dot,
I have decided to blame you for everything strange and unpleasant in my life, and here is why: How is it possible that you manage to collect dark lint all along your periphery even when I am wearing light-colored panties? Is it not demeaning enough that I shall be wearing a sticker on my ass for the next thirty years or so? Is it necessary that said sticker cannot seem to regulate my hormones and mood without also latching on to every piece of lint in my house? I’m pretty sure my ass was with me all day, and at no time did I go roll around in dark fuzzy stuff. It’s very perplexing.
Dear striped polarfleece pajamas pants,
Oh! Alliteration and warmth! And guess what? You are now the most constant and reliable thing in my life. You and me, pants. Again, not really what I pictured for myself lo those many years ago, but it’ll have to do. Love Amongst the Polyester; that may be the name of my upcoming novel. Yes.