Letters to my non-readers

Dear realtor who was supposed to show my house the other day,

Next time, cancel your showing as soon as your buyer cancels on you, instead of forgetting to tell me until I call you 10 minutes before the showing. By that point, I had already carted the babies out in the hundred-plus-degree heat, locked the dogs up in the very hot garage, and left the house, not to mention all the work of prepping the house for showing. That's a lot of unnecessary work you put me through.

Karma is a bitch, and I sincerely hope it comes back to bite you in the ass.

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Dear client who canceled five minutes *after* the showing time,

That goes for you too. I won't say anything too rude, because I still want you to buy my house, but it's not the nicest thing you could have done to me. It's really hot outside, and I didn't particularly want to get the girls out. I also had other things to do during the day besides getting the house ready to show. I keep the house pretty clean on a daily basis, but I still have to spend an hour or two sweeping and mopping and picking up after the girls, and I'd have been just as happy to skip that.

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Dear client-who-canceled-above, and then pulled a no-show for her rescheduled appointment,

Up yours.

If you have any trouble with that, let me know. I have a pair of pointy-toed boots at my disposal, and I'll be happy to assist you in any way I can.

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Dear ACL in my left knee,

I know we've been together for thirty years now, but you just don't hold me together like you used to, and it's time for us to part ways. On September 11, I'll be trading you in for a new model. Well, OK, a used cadaver-graft model, but it is still going to work better than you do. You've changed, what with all the partial tears you've been through, and you're just not what I need any more. I wish you all the best, and hope you have a really nice trip to the medical waste incinerator.

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Dear dogs,

Yes, I know it's very cute that the girls have learned to share food with you. I totally agree that you are all fairly thin and could use a little fattening-up, and I know that Cheerios and gently-used turkey burger taste better than kibble.

Nonetheless, do you think you could possibly refrain from swarming the high chairs like a school of sharks awaiting chum? And possibly, could you even wait until the food drops to the floor, rather than still being in the babies' hands?

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Dear Molly the diaper-eating wonder poodle,

Please don't interpret the above to mean that it's OK to wait to eat the food until it has been digested and excreted by the babies.

I already have a poodle throw blanket in my living room. If you steal and destroy another poopy diaper in the middle of my bed, I will make myself a matching rug.

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Dear air conditioner,

It is so hot here that the pavement on the roads is buckling, and people are literally dying from the heat. I know you thought it would be a really cute idea to leak out all your freon and stop working last week, but let me assure you, it was not cute at all. No, not even the tiniest little bit.

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Dear fire ant nest outside the bedroom window,

Wondering where those missing worker ants were, the ones you sent out to forage for food or water? Well, they crawled into the house, and unbeknownst to me, up into one of the babies' damp towels hanging on the end of the changing table. When G gave Claire a towel to play with during a diaper change, she immediately started screaming. She has about ten fire ant bites all over her neck and chest, and we felt just awful. G smooshed all of the ants on Claire, and I vacuumed up the rest.

I hope you enjoyed the nice dose of fire ant poison I sprinkled all over your mound. Rot in hell, you stupid baby-biting fire ants.

Kisses,
Emma