Regular readers will know how much I love Kat's Dear So and So and it has been way too long since my last one. There is a long, long list of postcards I wish to send to people. Something along these lines:
Dear Jaguar Man in the Supermarket Car Park,
I appreciate your car is brand spanking new and very shiny. It does look very lovely and sleek, particularly with its cream interiors unsullied by car seats, sticky fingers and lost raisins. I can also appreciate that you don't want it to get scratched so parking in the bigger family/disabled spots at the supermarket must seem like an excellent solution to you. But the thing is, when you do that and take up the last of those spots I have to park in a normal spot. And being the size of a house, I can't actually park in a normal spot and actually get out of the car. But I'm pleased that your car is doing OK. Really, I am.
Yours, only just managing to get over the instinct to run my ever so scratched and dented car a little too close to yours,
Cross Pants
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Dear Nursing Bra makers,
Sexy lingerie for nursing bras? Sexy? Are you kidding me? Can there be anything less sexy than a milk soaked, black and red racy looking bra clearly trying to be something it is not? Can there be anything less sexy than cracked nipples/mastitis attached to a very tired woman? Stop trying to make us feel guilty about not feeling sexy and start trying to make us feel comfortable and gently treated.
Yours, in slight hysterics over your brand names,
White Cotton Pants
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Dear Son #3
Your head is stuck under my ribs and your bum is stuck in my hip. This ain't how it is supposed to be, you are going to find it a bit tricky getting out if you remain in this position. The midwife is threatening to make me stick a pack of frozen peas on your head as apparently the cold will make you move. Trust me, I don't want to do this very much. So could you, you know, just turn around?
With thanks,
Mummy xx
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Dear Luke,
It did make me laugh a little your teacher was wondering if you might have a bit of a hearing problem. Clearly you can zone him out as much as you ignore me. I know you don't have a hearing problem, if I whisper 'who wants some chocolate?' you appear, at speed, from 2 flights up. But if we could find your listening ears and stick them on with super glue so they don't keep on getting lost, then that would be ever so helpful.
Bored of being ignored,
Mummy xx
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Dear Adam,
I appreciate that you are very good at school, get a sticker every day, sit quietly and are generally every teachers dream. I just wonder whether you have to save up all your bad behaviour for home. Can we get some of the good stuff? It's just that when I'm this pregnant I find it difficult to access the reserves of patience and energy to deal with it.
Your ever hopeful,
Mummy xxx
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Dear man in the street,
If you live near a primary school children will be walking past your house. They will make noise, especially mine. You can moan, whinge and shout all you like about it, but it is never ever going to change. Telling me you used to be a child once too isn't really very helpful either. I used to be able to walk down the road in peace once too as well. Lets just agree to stay out of each other's way as otherwise I don't think it'll be pretty.
Yours, a very heavily pregnant, grumpy and rather shouty and looking for a reason to rant,
Pants.
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Dear evolutionary processes,
Not having a volume control on children is a design flaw.
Yours, going deaf from the volume of the screeching in my house,
PWN
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Dear Students over the road,
Apparently you go to one of the best universities in the world where you need to have excellent grades to get a place. In theory this must mean that you have a brain cell. So could we put it to good use working out the bins and recycling system? It isn't hard. You put your glass and paper into the green box, your tins and cartons into the blue box and you only put things out for collection on Monday (that is the day after Sunday and the day before Tuesday). As I said, not difficult and really very preferable to having your weekly trash scattered over the road by foxes and the like.
Yours,
PWN.
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Dear Child/Working Tax Credit people,
&&** f***K, B*&&%%*$KS p**&&!
Yours,
PWN
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Dear random people,
Back away from the bump. Do not, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES think that I want you to feel, pat, stroke to touch in any way my stomach. This is particularly true if I don't actually know your name, but is good advice for everyone.
Yours,
Pants
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Dear Bosnian Women,
Recently a survey showed that you earn more than your male counterparts, particularly in the management positions. I always thought that the women were the real strength of Bosnia. Any chance you could arrange a visit over here and show us how to do it?
Yours,
an ex Brit in Bosnia
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Dear Jessie,
We're very proud that you have stuck to your diet and have achieved the desired weight. Admittedly it is much easier to do as you are a dog and can't yet open the fridge. Did you really have to celebrate your successful weigh in by running off, getting into some bins and eating so much rubbish that your stomach bloated right out and you felt sick for 3 days?
Here's hoping you learnt a valuable lesson, but somehow doubting it,
Your ever exasperated owner.
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Dear Self,
Dare I mention those three scary letters - P.H.D? It ain't going to write itself. Stop faffing and getting on with it.
Yours,
Lazy Pants.