Dear Fairies Who Are Supposed to Show Up to Clean My House While I’m Sleeping,
Where have you been???
The dishes are overflowing, ick. And the laundry is piled a mile high, ewww. The toilet needs to be scrubbed, yummy. There are some unidentified spots on the kitchen floor that need to be scrubbed, blech. And Comet is shedding at an alarming rate, leaving piles of golden hair all over the place, which is not helping with my allergies/ability to breathe on my own, *wheeze*.
I’d really appreciate it if you’d quit skipping over my house when you make your rounds. We need you here!!!!
Dear Random Collection Agencies,
I am not Luanne Rice. I don’t know Luanne Rice. I don’t know where you can find her or where her mother lives or what she had for breakfast this morning.
Please stop calling my phone number asking for Luanne Rice and leaving umpteen million messages on my voice mail for her to return your very urgent calls or else you’re going to swoop down like the vultures you are and confiscate her firstborn. Here’s a hint: Luanne Rice is NOT getting these very urgent messages to return your calls because THIS IS NOT HER PHONE NUMBER… and hasn’t been for at least the past 18 months (I know this because this has been MY phone number for the past 18 months).
So quit calling me; it’s annoying. And more importantly, you’re taking up valuable space on my voice mail that the bill collectors who are actually looking for ME could be using.
Dear Dusty Old Scale Sitting in My Bathroom,
It’s been a while… and apparently you’ve ceased to function properly since the last time I stood atop you and whispered a little prayer.
Because the obscene number that you flashed at me this morning can’t possibly be right. No way. Uh uh. I can’t possibly have gained 20 pounds (!!!!!) in the past 4 months. I know that I’m all sorts of awesome because I quit smoking 4 months ago, and I know it’s probably not a coincidence that this supposed weight gain has occurred since then… but, really… 20 pounds??
According to the tale you tell, I now weigh more than I did when I was 9 months pregnant… both times. That just isn’t possible.
So, straighten up and fly right. And try really hard NOT to ruin my day and make me near-suicidal the next time I brush the dust off and ask you to perform.