So the picture is the ‘Cindy Lou Palm Trees’ picture from a few months back, and other than that… I feel some more letters to imaginary people coming on…
Dear Weight Watchers,
I don’t mean to criticize, but you people need to stop being so nice to me. I was gone for over four months for crying out loud–you redecorated!!! And when I get on the scale to find that I have gained back most of the 90 lbs I lost six years ago, did I get scolded? Laughed at? Slapped about with an empty MacDonald’s bag? No, no. You people just commiserated with my wobbly chins and told me gently that next week, after a week of dieting, things would look better. Gracious goodness, people–do you not realize that if you don’t send a six-foot bruiser named Helga after me with a billy-club and a cattle-prod to separate me from my chocolate, this weight-loss thing is never going to work?
Thank you, and I look forward to seeing a mean-assed uber-bitch with handcuffs and an attitude at our next meeting. Unless of course I lose weight. In that case, your regular sweetheart with the nice smile will do just fine.
Dear Science Diet people,
I realize that you spend a whole lot of your life force formulating the best vitamin complexes to extend the lives of the sorry hairballs camping out on my kitchen table. While you’re at it, could you try making that super-spiffy ultra vitamin complexed ball of kibble more appealing to the hairballs than it is to the goddamned dog? She’s gulping it down by the quart and we could park a glass of water on her stupendously sized ass. Besides, its making her break wind like a fart-scented hurricane.
Thank you for your time,
Dear Loose-Id people,
Please make it harder to download your smutty books onto my computer. If an idiot like me is doing it, how many more people are squandering their precious time and life force reading word-candy when we should be writing classic literature? Or at least sweeping the damned floor.
Thanks for helping me out,
Dear Genetic Scientists,
Please work faster on the ability to remove the genes containing a parent’s least-likable traits from our children. My older kids would rather read than clean the house and my younger kids think that ‘no’ is a noun, verb, and an adjective. We need to fix this and fix it now, and really, I think you’re my only hope.
Thank you so much,
Sell my books faster. Faster. NO, DAMMIT, I WANT TO BE A NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR RIGHT NOW!!!
*whew* Thank you so much, and I’ll let you know when I celebrate my big fat royalty check (HAH!).
To the makers of Kathmandu merino/cashmere/silk yarn–
You’ve got three different fibers in there people, would it freakin’ kill you to put some damned nylon in the mix? This yarn is sumptuous, squishy, and gorgeous and it has less stretch in it than my unimaginative principal’s skinny, black and white mind. A little help here?
To the ghosts of Mel Blanc, Friz Freling, Chuck Jones, et al:
I just wanted to let you know that your work lives on. My four year old can watch the Looney Toons Gold collection for hours at a time–and because we frequently get lost in our little lives in this littler house, he often does. Thanks to you, my son can do the ‘Rabbit Season/Duck Season’ bit until we’re ready to jump in a lake with poor Elmer Fudd, and he thinks that life really is a cartoon and attempts to jump off the furniture accordingly. As long as no one gives him a loaded weapon until he knows better, I think you all will help keep my little Cave Troll grounded in all things comedy. Seriously, gentlemen, your work lives on. Thank you.