I’m linking up and doing Friday’s Letters….join in and be sure to link up!
Dear not really daughter-in-law of a friend of mine: Yes I know you. Beyond that…we cannot be friends. Your “boyfriend” who wants to have ANOTHER baby with you but refuses to marry you because then you won’t get state aid is also a druggie and a major dickwad to you. Me no likey. Therefore, when you invite me to your daughter’s bday party and specifically note that you would like money for gifts – I want to shank you. The end.
Dear parents of a 12 year old that just moved here: I realize that after NEVER having even seen my face or Rambo’s face or knowing my name – that you are okay with and allow your daughter to stay at my house for hours on end and even want her to stay overnight with us. However, if you think I’m letting my little girl stay with you never knowing a single thing about you – you’re as dumb as the Kardashians.
Never. Gonna. Happen.
Dear appraiser man: If you don’t appraise my house as if the economy hasn’t tanked and the housing market is just fine – then I’m going to have to shank you too. If you tell me that all the equity is gone in my house when just years ago equity was flooding out of its every window, we’re going to personally go see the President and speak with him about he lied about his version of hope and change. Or I could show you my left boob to change your mind. My left boob is really nice.
Dear anyone who will listen: If Rambo comes home like a drunk stuporing idiot after a day of golf with the guys – please help me not to cut his toes off and sew them to his chest. Help me not to scream my head off and act like a lunatic. Forgive me for pulling the, “You cannot get drunk in public now that you are the Mayor, you know?” card just to stop him from getting drunk. That was kind of a last resort. And mean.
Dear word “short term disability”: Thank you for providing immature laughing fits for me. I got an email from the HR department telling me about someone who will be using their STD beginning in August. STD. Ha. Not a great acronym, is it? Yes, I’m five.
Dear makers of mushrooms that you put in landscaping: Stop making mushrooms that you put in landscaping. Between these mushrooms and a certain Coach purse addiction that I am currently suffering from – I’m going to be more broke than Willie Nelson soon. Seriously people – I have a thing about mushrooms. I have a whole mushroom garden. I know EXACTLY why I love them and it’s stupid and I don’t care to admit why here. Remember I was even going to tattoo a mushroom on myself? They are a source of great pain and joy for me. And no – this has nothing to do with “special” drug-like mushrooms. Here’s a picture of the latest mushrooms I’ve bought.
Dear person with size 6 shorts in your closet: Crap – that’d be me. Yes – I’m talking to myself. Oh the laughter you bring me at 6am when I’m searching for something to wear. I picked you up and looked at your tag and it said 6. I nearly fell down laughing at you. Six? I mean really? What the hell are you still doing in my closet? Pretending some day I’ll wear you again?
Out loud – naked in my closet – at 6am – after seeing your size 6 tag – I said: HA! ARE YOU F*CKING KIDDING ME? – and threw your ass back on the shelf and went to the kitchen to grab my white Kit Kat for breakfast. I am thee epitome of health. Must work on this.
That’s enough Friday’s letters for now. How about you? You got any Friday’s letters to share?
Be sure to link up if you do!