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A Letter to My Loved Ones


Dear Family,
I know how much you enjoy hearing from me from time to time, even though we all live in the same household. But you know what they say about familiarity breeding contempt? It also breeds deafness.
And maybe contempt too, but that’s your problem.
As usual there are a few issues we need to work on and I thought I’d present them in writing so as to keep things a clear as possible.
1. When you are “helping out” by sorting the laundry (a phrase that is akin to a father “babysitting” his own kids), kindly keep in mind that I, too, wear clothing.
I know it’s not outfits that show up on your male-focused radar since I don’t appear to be waiting to have my fallopian tubes x-rayed but, trust me, I do enjoy clean clothing.
So please include a few of my pieces in the mix. I’m sure you don’t need all ten of your polo shirts by tomorrow.
2. When the trash is spilling out onto the floor? That means it’s full. That means stop putting things into it. In the real world it also means EMPTY IT!
Oh. Wait. That was two concepts in one paragraph.
Let’s try this:
When things appear over the edge of the trash can:
a. Do not add more things.
b. Empty can.
When things appear over the edge of the trash can, DO NOT:
a. Walk away like you don’t see it.
b. Say innocently “Oh, did that need to be emptied?” when I start complaining that the trash you put there is spilling out over the floor.
c. Tell me it’s someone else’s “turn.”
And just to show you I do recognize good manners, let me commend you for never uttering the sentence, “Why don’t you do it,” requiring me to enumerate the various mind-numbing tasks I’d already completed prior to approaching the volcanic garbage of which we speak. Before beating you to a pulp.
3. Energy to power electric plants is a precious commodity that should not be wasted lest we burn every ounce of fossil fuel on the planet and winter comes and, with nothing to provide heat, we all die. So turn out the lights when you leave the room.
4. To my knowledge in the last 24 hours you have not crawled through a swamp, slaughtered a pig or participated in mud wrestling. So why the 40-minute shower? And after all that time you still haven’t shaved?
5. Heirs: When you write your Mommy Dearest book, I suggest you don’t mention you were “forced to eat French toast for breakfast” instead of Big Box O’ Sugar Crap. You might lose the sympathy factor so integral to your victim story.
6. I wouldn’t mention the “she was always hanging around asking questions” either.
7. Frankly, I wouldn’t suggest you write a Mommy Dearest book, because I can write too. How does Disinheriting the Ingrates strike you as a title?
8. No, I don’t love the dogs more than you. . .
9. . . .But a little ingratiating sucking up goes a long way toward getting treats.
10. I’m in my last year of my 40s so don’t mess with me.
There. That should put us on the road to a more cooperative and just lifestyle. I just love these little breaths of air-clearing communication, don’t you?
Your Mother
and Your Wife

Share  Posted by Jeanne Jackson at 11:02 AM | Permalink

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