no. 469 – Dear Squatters

Dear Hundreds of Baby Spiders Using My SUV As A Nursery,

Unless you plan on spinning me a beautiful silken hammock to which I can laze away these humid and warm days of summer, I request that you find a more appropriate setting to make your eye-blinking jumps. Also, please note, my morning coffee is not your personal jacuzzi.

Dear Deer Camping in the Tree Line Across the Road,

Stop. Look. Listen. Even my son knows this. Stop perpetuating the rumor that beauty and brains do not mix.

Dear Uterine Lining,

As impressive as your ability to pad my "baby buggy" apparently happens to be, 7 full days of either bleeding, spotting, staining or a combination of any of these attributes is just plain mean. I’m trying to get all laundry done before Thursday and you are not doing any more than just pissing me off and reminding me that sustaining an embryo, even if a mouth-breather, is not within your scope of functions. Shed and be done already.

Sincerely,

The Car-, Land-, and Body-Lord