My Dears (and not so much)

Dear Mr. PTA President,

I am SO GLAD you don't like me, Senor -I-Tell-Everyone-I-Teach-High-School-Sex-Ed-But-Really-It's-Just-HEALTH-CLASS. Ridiculing the teacher who just got out of intensive care because her kidneys almost failed during delivery, and whose baby is in serious condition in the NICU, is grossly tasteless, especially at a PTA meeting. I don't care that your wife (who teaches enrichment at the school, aka, Josie, every day) doesn't like her because she's scatterbrained. I work there too sometimes, asshole, and although maybe she's not a gifted music teacher, she's just young, not that it matters, and I wish I hadn't been too shocked by your comments to rip you a new one. Just because I had the nerve to stand my ground about not having that ridiculous Chuck E Cheese standing outside the school on the day of the fundraiser, reminding poor kids that other children are going to what is essentially a party when they can't afford to (and pissing off parents who aren't taking their kids), doesn't mean you need to make snide remarks when I talk at a meeting ("oh, are you sure you're not going to complain?") for the NEXT SIX MONTHS. Your wife isn't fond of me, either, because Patrick's teachers have asked two years running that she do her job and work with all the advanced kids at the school and not just grades 3-5 (requests which you have refused), and your stellar wit makes me pretty sure of how you both talk about me as well. Thank God. If you liked me, I guess I would be a giant douchecanoe, too. If you're both really *that* too cool for school, then you shouldn't work in one.

Thankfully,
Unpopular

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Dear Principal,

Grow a pair. When someone ridicules one of your staff, especially like that, speak up. Don't just look down and type on your laptop like a pussy.

Sincerely,
Not Planning to Work for You When I Graduate

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Dear Patrick,

Seriously. Telling me at 8:15 that you're supposed to bring pretzels for the belated Valentine's party this afternoon is a bit much. Calling home twenty minutes later to say that you can't find the lunchbox that you took off of the counter this morning, before getting into the car and going to school, is even worse. Are you sure you didn't just eat it, box and all? Sometimes I think you're going to eat ME if I stop moving. It's not in the house and it's not in the car, so if it's not at the school, that means it's in your stomach. If you poop out a cloth Towmater later, I won't be surprised.

Signed,
Good Grief

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Dear Snow,

Please stop melting. Every day, it looks like the dogs have pooped fifteen times because a whole new poop field gets uncovered by your hasty retreat. I'm all for archaeology, but three-week-old frozen/melted dog crap doesn't count. Not to mention, at this rate, everything is going to be mud in a week. Gross!!!

Sincerely,
Pooped

on a related note -

Dear Dogs,

Please stop pooping. You're killing me. I'm going to cork your asses shut pretty soon. Enough, already!

Sincerely,
Grossed Out

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Dear Jeans,

Et tu?! Noooooooooooooooooo! It was bad enough when one pair ripped out the other week, but now this?! Now all of my really comfy jeans are dead!!!! Why, oh why, is the crotch the first to go when you're an adult? Knee-holes are mildly attractive, but crotch holes are skanky / revealing of granny panties. Either way, NOT attractive, especially when bent over scooping poop in the yard.

Sadly,
Soon-to-be Stiff New-Jeans Owner

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Dear Town,

WHEN are you going to finish plowing the streets!? I'm tired of driving on one-lane, taking-turns-coming-and-going roads! Having a bus come by is like taking your life into your hands!!!! Just because there were people parked on the street during the storm doesn't mean that you can leave the six-foot pile of snow there until spring. No one can see around corners while driving, and someone's going to get hit, and sue you, and then we'll NEVER get plowed again!

Sincerely,
WTF?! It's been WEEKS!