Letters my husband won’t let me send, Pt II.
We moved house! New house means new neighbours! Which means new letters. (See Pt1)
Dear Lady Next Door,
Do you know your children are running riot in your yard? Do you know it’s 11pm? Do you know that one is naked?
Sleepless and Grumpy
Yes he is my son. Yes, he is gorgeous. Yes, he is small for his age. Premature, yes. Only four weeks, not too bad. Yes, he’s a happy baby. Well no, right now he’s not. Yes, that’s right. Yes, he’s hungry. Yes, I have to go now, Please fortheloveofGod, I have to go now.
The mother of the baby who is now hysterical.
I can see you peering in my windows as you mow the grass out the front. I can also see you peering over the fence to check out the yard. Ok, So I can’t see you, but Miss 4 just dobbed you in. Do your job, and go away.
Dear Owners of big corporate shopping complex,
Why do you have to have my three favourite stores in quick succession? If you would space them out some, at least I could convince my dwindling bank balance that it is healthy for me to shop there, because of the exercise I am getting. Currently this is not the case. The only thing getting a workout is my credit card. I need you to ban me from your complex, immediately.
Fat and Poor.
Dear Miss size 4,
No, actually your ass isn’t the size of a reversing garbage truck. In fact, I’m certain you don’t have an ass. What you do have is a desire for people to fawn over you and tell you you’re pretty, and skinny and not fat like me. Dear you, your ass is not the size of the garbage truck, it’s the size of the planet! There, happy now?
Dear family at the grocery store,
Shoes. You all need them. Except the baby in the trolley. For some reason, he has shoes.