I say this with all the sincerity that I can muster.
What the hell?
Seriously. What the hell?
Do you think I enjoy having a period approximately every eleven minutes? Because I don't. Do you think I like having to wander around my office asking all the people with vagina's if they have a tampon they could please spare, not because I didn't bring any but because I had to use the entire stash I had at work, in my car, AND in my purse? Because I'll let you in on a little secret: I DON'T FREAKING LIKE IT.
Please. Just go away. It's not fair. I don't get to have babies and you still come and torture me like this? What the crap?
If you have to come visit, only do it once a month. I will regard you with angry insensitivity at that time.
Dear Woman in the Shoe Show on Saturday,
I totally saw you switch the price tags on those shoes.
Yes. I did.
And you know what else? I was disgusted by your behavior. Not only was I disgusted that I saw you switch the price tags? I am also disgusted that you then yelled at two teenage girls who probably work for minimum wage and tried to lie to them and force them to give you those skank-ho shoes for $9.99 instead of $14.99. I am revolted that you displayed that behavior in front of your child, who was probably not even three years old.
Also? I'm all about saving money but maybe if you didn't have those fake nails halfway to Cleveland and that fake-ass Prada bag? Perhaps that $5 wouldn't have made such a difference to you.
Additionally? I am revolted that you were screaming at those little teenage girls who were just trying to earn money to go to college. Or the prom. Or whatever.
I try really hard not to judge other mothers, but what did you just teach that child? That stealing is okay? Because that's not cool. Just. Not. Cool.
And? The best part? I called the manager of the store this morning and told her I saw you switch the tags. So threaten legal action to two sixteen year olds all you want. Moron.
I am glad you are home. I'm sorry your flight sucked. I'm glad you had fun at Epcot and the baseball game and running amok playing on the beach.
The only downside I can see to having you home? Is that I really want to eat potato chips. (See the above note to my period for more information) And every time I eat potato chips? You want to eat them too. And you? Eat all the potato chips.
Stop eating all the potato chips, lest I crotch punch you.
Love you a million!
Your loving wife
Dear random people:
Please. Read for clarity.
Also? If I don't know you and you take the time to send me an email telling me what a craptastic parent I am because you didn't read for clarity? Then you suck.
To everyone else, particularly the three women who emailed me to tell me that you could totally see my name and address on my driver's license picture that I posted and have since taken down:
You guys rock!
Have a better day than I'm having!