Dear Chick In The Tan Acura,
Merging is good. Merging is something that is often overlooked in this, the land of bad drivers. However, when you merge, kindly turn your head to make sure there isn’t someone already in the lane you want to merge into. It doesn’t take much effort, really, and I would really appreciate not getting hit while going 70 mph down the Mass Pike with a dump truck on my ass.
Dear Theo Epstein,
So, how’s that Bronson Arroyo trade looking today, huh? Beckett lasted, what? An inning and a third last night? Nine baserunners and eight runs scored in that time. It was 12 – 1 by the bottom of the third and who was that guy you brought in to replace Beckett? One of the Bad News Bears? This while the Yankees had three of their best hitters on the DL. You maybe want to work on getting Arroyo back now?
Dear Middle Daughter’s Middle School,
Thank you for allowing me the opportunity, once again, to chaperone a field trip. The Freedom Trail Death March is exactly what I wanted to do tomorrow – I don’t know how you knew. And to do it with a busload of screaming 5th graders? Well, that’s just icing on the cake, isn’t it? I’m sure that tomorrow afternoon, my feet and my ears will also want to write thank you notes.
Dear Youngest Daughter’s Incisors,
Just break thru the gums already. Please. Anything to stop the incessant shrieking and whining and carrying on All. Fucking. Day.
We have two children at home. They both like to be fed every day, multiple times a day. So, yes, we really DO need 20 yoghurts and 2 loaves of bread and, as you put it, “enough paper towels for a small army.” Your constant complaining over every fucking article I put in the trolley is getting old. It’s only been this way for the last six years. You should probably figure it’s going to be like this for the next 20. m’kay? And if you get to buy a 12-pack of beer once or twice a week, then I get to buy Fudgesicles. So Shut. Up.