Dear Young Man at the Pet Food Store,
You are goo-ood! I mean, it was very kind of you, regardless, to offer to carry my big, how-many-dogs-are-you-feeding-anyway bag of dog food out to my car for me; but when I smiled, declined (I need the strength training), headed for the door, and then heard you ask the sales clerk about applying for a job? Oh yeah, you’re good. Truly, I admire your non-slacker approach and was so sorry to hear her tell you they aren’t hiring right now. If I could, I’d hire you as my stable boy.
Dear Verizon Sales Lady,
When we tell you we want the texting function blocked/disabled/whatever on the new phone we are getting for our 10 and 12-year-old daughters to share, don’t look at us like we just sprouted two extra heads and admonish us to think about the future. We are thinking about the future. And do you know what happens in the not-so-distant future when children this age have the ability to text? Sexting! Yeah, we’re down with what the kids are doing these days. Plus? After getting our own new phones and upgrading our plan so that we could text? We spent the next day, sick on our respective couches, texting each other:
Me: What r u wearing?
McH: Nothing but a smile.
McH: Maybe, but it’s what I’d like to be wearing . . .
Me: U r a sick perv.
See? We know all about sexting. Seriously though? Our girls are 10 and 12. They don’t need to be texting. They need to be cleaning horse stalls, reading books, cleaning their bedroom and interacting with other kids in person.
Thank you for not totally wrecking the barn after discovering that I didn’t properly lock your stall and going free-range for the night. Now if you could just restack all the hay that you threw around . . .
You must rethink this no texting policy for your kids. I mean, for now it’s fine, but when they start dating it could come in handy. Just think of the messages you could send them (and their dates)! You know, gentle reminders about how you expect them to comport themselves. Things like, “Hand check!” and “Get your tongue out of his mouth!” What a rockin’ mom you could be, battling pre-marital sex and teen pregnancy one text at a time. “Dude, I know what you are thinking of doing to my daughter, and I have the police and your mother on speed dial.”
I wanted my haircut, but two inches shorter; not your haircut, but two inches longer. At least it isn’t all wonky and crooked, so thanks for that. Really, it’s better than most seem to be able to accomplish.
Dear Quinn’s Toenail,
We knew you were going to fall off, it’s just that we don’t know where you fell off. Please don’t turn up somewhere gross, like a refrigerator shelf (he has been known to climb).
Thank you for not walking right back out the door when you returned from your business trip to find a messy house headed by a wife who looked like the epitome of hag.
Dear person who emailed me a writing sample and then asked me to ignore it,
I’d already read it, and it made me cry. I believe there is great value in what you wrote, and I will email you soon. Life has just gotten in the way every time I’ve tried.
Someday I’ll actually write you a letter and send it to your last known addresses. Until then, if you are out there, Tewt the Newt says hello.