Ok - it is Saturday today but I started this post on Friday. It's been a while, but I need a rant. Bring on Dear So and So!
Dear car parked right outside our gate,
When you park that close to the gate I can't get the buggy out. Which means everytime I want to leave the house I have to dismantle the thing, climb over the fence and then put it back together. This doesn't make me a happy bunny. I really need to move it or I can't guarantee that I won't send out my sons with hands covered in suncream to smear them all over the side of your car. It won't be big, it won't be clever but it will make me feel better. And if you are parking here because you want to save money from parking it in a carpark, I may also give the boys a key.
Move it.
Cross Pants.
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Dear Ductal Thrush,
F*** OFF! You are painful and making breast feeding very unfunny. Just so you know, the drugs have been obtained and you are about to be blitzed into oblivion. I won't cry if I don't see you again.
Yours,
Cross (and watery eyed) Pants.
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Dear GP,
I appreciate you are not a breast feeding expert but really, you should know a little more about it. At least I'd prefer to not have to come and see you a second time, armed with information about my likely complaint in order to get the treatment I need.
Yours,
Grizzly Pants.
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Dear Playmobile,
I love you. Your toys are fab. They keep my boys and any others kids we have picked up on the way quiet for ages. That is all I require from a toy.
Yours,
Pants, drinking a hot cup of tea in peace, quiet and bliss.
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Dear self,
Do remember that you do not have real live superpowers. Which means you can only do what you can do. Do your best and stop beating yourself up over what you haven't done. Lets look at what you have managed and figure the rest will get done tomorrow.
You know I'm talking sense,
PWN.
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Dear Readers,
I really want to write a post about what is going on in Libya and the effects of a policy of non-intervention, as witnessed by Bosnia. But it needs to be a well thought out post, with a cohesive argument. Which my brain isn't doing at the moment. So I'll just have to say that not intervening in Bosnia put the actual people doing the peacekeeping into an impossible situation in Bosnia. I understand the theory of not intervening, but the reality is so much more complicated.
Concerned Pants.
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Dear Sam,
How are you already 16 weeks? That has flown by. You are a little bundle of sunshine, so full of smiles. In fact you are so smilely in the morning that I'm starting to think you must be a changling. Your parents do not have a morning smile gene in a single cell of their bodies.
Lots of Love,
Mummy xx
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Dear Supervisor,
Finish writing up this year? Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! What? You aren't joking? Seriously?
Yours in fear of the rest of this year,
Working Pants.
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Dear roll of flab around my tummy,
We aren't friends. You have outstayed your welcome. Please leave.
Yours,
Fat Pants.
Dear So and So, better than therapy. Head on over to Kat's to read some more.