Dear old hag at the grocery store,
I’m writing you this
letter public shaming because this seems to be the new custom amongst my generation when we’re pissed off. I’m not really sure how it works either, but I do know I’ll be damned if I’m the last person on this very generationally-appropriate bandwagon. Anyway, listen up, strumpet. I want you to know that I heard you. Over the bananas, just past the avocados…I heard you. You turned to your spouse/friend/escort and repeated these words, “that kid just made the ugliest face at me.” As the words traveled across the mounds of hass avocados, I initially thought I couldn’t have heard you right. Surely, the small mountains of green fruit had captured and distorted your words. Because *rising slowly* I know you couldn’t be talking about the life I created sitting below me in an obnoxiously big race car attached to the cart. Surely. You don’t mean him. Because if you did, I will cut you.
I’m sure our paths have crossed before. A few years back you whispered to your mother that my niece sounded like a baby pterodactyl when she cried. Little did you know, the joke was on you. As I am known to have, on the ready, little quips prepared, I muttered back, “well you look like a pterodactyl, lady.” Snap! Raining white hot, fire all around you.
You don’t know me. You don’t know that my son has a condition. Medically its known as Mad-Doggin’ Insipidus. As it has been late onset, this is a new struggle that keeps our thoughts and prayers very occupied, as you can imagine. Your words cut like glass. But not the tempered kind. The kind that shatters into tiny microparts that get stuck in your hands for weeks at a time, untouchable to tweezers. Not just painful but extraordinarily annoying. Like your face *performs modest touchdown routine.*
So next time you decide to be a frigid, critical, subhuman, don’t do it to someone with a relatively low traffic blog that will slam the crap out of you…while keeping your anonymity intact. Capish?
Your Unfriendly, Neighborhood SAHM
p.s. CUT you