Ugh, what a week. It was actually a pretty great week since the sun finally decided to show up the party (always fashionably late, that sun) and brought Spring as its plus 1. I normally like living in PA with the four seasons but since Winter is my least favorite season I wasn’t happy when it decided to extend its stay. Isn’t it the worst when guests don’t realize it’s time to leave?
Anyway, back to my opening “ugh, what a week.” It’s period week my friends. Actually the week leading up to period week which is worse for me. I get insomnia, night sweats, cravings like I’m pregnant (I’m not), pimples on my right cheek right in the fatty part so popping is difficult, impatience, lack of empathy. You name it, I’m experiencing it. And today has been the holy grail is impatience. Since I wrote a fluffy post with 32 things that make me happy, I feel entitled to write some anonymous letters.
Dear Person Who Rode My Butt This Morning,
I noticed you were extremely impatient to get to work this morning when you sped up to ride my tail, then slowed down, then sped up again, and repeated this process a few more times. I’m guessing you’re not a horrible accelerator but rather someone who really wants to make their point that you want me to move over. I don’t know if you know this, but the right lane is for driving and the left lane is for passing so the fact that I had to move over to the left lane (which was clear) for you to pass me in the right lane is a little absurd. Nevertheless, I hope you made it to work on time.
Dear Radio Caller Inner,
The topic was older guys going on spring break to gawk at young girls so I’m not quite sure why you called in to talk about an older couple you’re friends with who took you to a sex bar that had swings and whips and stuff. The DJ’s seemed confused too. I suspect you were making the whole thing up.
Dear Restaurant Worker,
I understand that I am calling an ethnic restaurant and that you are that ethnicity. And I am not someone who believes that you should only speak English in America. In fact, you do speak English. But with a heavy accent and with what seems to be a rudimentary understanding of English. That’s cool, I don’t have a problem with that. But what I do have a problem with is when you get frustrated because you can’t understand me when I’m trying to order food on your menu and you yell at me before passing the phone to someone else. Truth is, you just don’t know your menu. Despite my lack of patience today, I was extremely patient and even spelled the item out for you. You just kept yelling you don’t have that. You do. Ask the guy you handed the phone to.
Dear Middle Aged Women Driving Minivans,
You don’t get a free pass to park horribly. Learn to park. Actually, learn to drive. You are the biggest culprits on the road. This letter is specifically to the woman in the Panera parking lot. It took you 10 back ups and pull ins and you were still parked wrong. When I tried to get out of my car, I couldn’t. I appreciate you rolling down your window to speak with me about it, but I don’t appreciate you suggesting I move my car. No. Just no. I am not going to move my car parked appropriately in the middle of the space because you don’t know how to park your car. So after watching you try 10 more times, I was finally able to get out of my car. Might I suggest you get a smaller car, retake your driving lessons, or don’t drive at all. You also probably leave your turn signal on when you drive.
Dear Lunch Eaters,
No, I don’t know what that is. No, I don’t know which one is your food. No, I don’t know why they didn’t give me more bread. No, I still don’t know which one is yours. I am not a food expert. I don’t eat that food so I really don’t know which one is yours. Every.Single.Week. No, I have no clue! Know which food you ordered, know what it looks like, and stop asking me. Good thing you pay me a lot.
WHEW glad I got all that off my chest! Good thing I’ve got happy hour with some Junior League ladies tonight and some bar hopping with my bf tomorrow. Oh, btw so I don’t really drink much and he loves beer. In fact, he works for a beer distributor. So when he asks if I want to go bar hopping in New Hope here is how he did it: “I want to go there (New Hope) on Saturday with you and walk and bar hop. You can taste every restaurants’ tap water and compare them.” I shot back that I’d drink and he can be the DD. Boom!