Dear Raccoons,
My garbage cans are not a night club. Please stop partying in there. I'm tired of the cigarette butts and raccoon puke in the breezeway every morning.
Thanks,
Mrs. Loudshoes
Dear Mother Nature,
Enough with the rain. I get it, global warming has pissed you right off and you are giving us a good ass-kicking, but seriously, stop it. It hasn't stopped raining since, what?, the beginning of March and I am starting on my plans for an ark. (You can find anything on the internet.) I promise, if you stop wit the rain, I will stop using paper towels and plastic forks.
Yours Hopefully,
Mrs. Loudshoes.
Dear Crazy Client I Have Booked for Tomorrow.
I am a hairdresser, not a psychologist. Psychologists get paid WAY more than I do to listen to you. I will do your hair for free if you just. Shut. Up. This is not a joke.
Wearily,
Mrs. Loudshoes.
Dear City Department of Cat Licencing,
Your website sucks. It goes around and around in circles and then rejects my credit card. Thus, I have not been able to buy a cat licence for Toby for 2011. (Who needs a licence for a cat, anyway?Are your afraid I might not operate him safely? ) You can come and re-possess him, if you want, preferably at 5 a.m.
Daringly,
Mrs. Loudshoes
Dear Mister,
You make me laugh. All the time. Thanks for that.
Love,
Mrs. Loudshoes.
1 comment:
A license for a cat? Forget it!
Maybe you should suggest to your client that you need to charge her extra so you can pay for your own therapy after listening to her. :)
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