Letters I may send, if or when push comes to shove.
I used to do this job, way Back in the Day before there were scanners. You probably can’t even fathom this, but there was that Day. At any rate, cat food cans were annoying — buying 450 at $0.39 was tedious, as you might imagine — but I got through it. You too will get through your shift…but not if you don’t stop throwing my food down the counter to me after you scan it. If you throw another bag of frozen beans at me, I’m going to whip them back at you, and right at your head. Stop throwing my food.
Have a nice afternoon.
Dear Gas Station Attendant,
Although I may look like a princess, I am not, and it is not my fault that I am not permitted to pump my own gas. Blame the Great State of NJ. So when I ask you nicely to “please fill it with middle grade,” I actually mean fill it with middle grade. I don’t mean, stand-there-looking-bored-and-wait-for-the-click-to-signal-the-end-of-our-transaction-without-looking-at-the-pump-itself. Because if I meant that, I wouldn’t care about the “fill it” part of the request. I drive 300 miles in 6-mile increments in and around my house every day, so a full gas tank is important.
Have a nice afternoon. See you tomorrow.
Yes, I purchased a new Droid phone. Yes, you are still Dead to Me — and it is possible that the depth of your dead-ness to me has increased because you continue to impact the communications I have every day with many, many people. I’ve tried to get people to embrace “Yahoo!” as a search verb — “I’ll have to yahoo! that,” — but it’s not catching on. Argh. Apparently, your Dead to Me status means very little to you. Yet another reason for my disdain.
Don’t have a nice afternoon. You’re dead to me.
Dear Apple, Nintendo, and Wii, and anyone else who has invented and/or marketed some kind of handheld or electronic entertainment device currently owned by one or more of my children:
You all are killing me. Do you realize how hard this parenting gig is these days, and we also have to manage the influence or obsession with all these devices? Aack. I can’t stand it. A majority of my children have most of their electronics in parental lockdown (much to their dismay) for various anti-social infractions (name calling, fighting, etc.) and life is much more peaceful. But honestly, cut it out with the new versions, new games, new editions. The Santa letters in this house are going to read like a handwritten version of a Consumer Reports compilation. I’m thinking that Santa ought to ban gifts with plugs. Bring back the Red Rider…right, Ralphie?
Or, how about some or all of you market, I don’t know, a real paper book? Retro idea, for sure, but retro’s back, baby.
Appreciate the help. Have a nice holiday shopping season. See you at Best Buy, I guess.
When you see that I am in the kitchen, slaving away whipping up that gourmet meal for all of you, please refrain from inane questions (“What are you doing?”) and unsolicited opinions (“Ewww. I hate shrimp/sausage/red sauce/butter/cheese/_____,”). It’s really annoying and makes me want to set something on fire.
Also, it’s not a great leap of logic to realize that we will need the table set. Please stop acting like this is the first time anyone has ever asked you to do this, or pretending that you suddenly have something really important to do. (See the last sentence in the paragraph above.)
Bon appétit. Love you.
Dear SUV that I love so much,
Your balky thermostat is bringing me down, particularly now that the weather has turned frigid overnight. It’s a real bummer to have to crank it up to 90, push the bun warmers on to “11,” and get the steering wheel cooking just to be able to get out to the bus stop in the morning without freezing to death. Because then we are cooking to death.
A middle ground would be helpful. And if you could handle that on your own, without a trip to the shop, I’d be grateful. I just don’t have the time for that visit.
Toastily, and then overheatedly, yours.
Dear Doodle Dogs,
When that annoying un-neutered male Lab from around the corner and down the road comes to visit, please turn him away. It’s really getting to me. This weekend’s foray into unsupervised, in-home play was the last straw. I don’t care if he does know how to open the deck/kitchen door, you tell him that you can’t come out and he can’t come in because there’s no grownup home.
And tell him to keep his parts to himself. Love thy neighbor is going a bit far, and I’m really sick and tired of showering with a funky-dirty-Doodle Dog after Buddy comes a-calling. ICK.
Remember: no means no. Love you.
Dear Owner of above-referenced Lab,
Um, ICK. Get that roving Lothario neutered, and have a strongly-worded training session with him. You might also want to have “the talk” with him, as the Doodle that he seems to love the most (and I mean that in a very literal way), is a male and thus there is no hope that any genetics will be propelled into the next generation of Doodles.
It was funny the first time he opened our door unassisted. Now it’s downright rude. And he’s not allowed inside when no one is home — regardless of what my Doodles might have said.
Never underestimate the importance of a strong leash,
Signed, for all of the above: