I'm Just Not Happy

Dear Person who turned in my purse at Chick Fil A:

I'm not happy with you. I really, really appreciate the fact that you turned my purse in. You have no idea how appreciative I was! When I realized it was missing this morning and realized I might have left it on the floor in the children's play area, I figured another mom or dad would surely be thoughtful enough to turn it in. Another mom or dad would understand that I don't have the time or energy to deal with canceling credit cards, etc. Another mom or dad would understand what mommy brain does to a person.

I just want you to know that I forgive you for taking the $100 bucks that I just got from the bank that morning. I'm going to assume that you just found out that your child needs glasses, or braces, or a kidney. I'm sure you were desperate. That is the only logical explanation.

I'm not mad. It's just money, after all. My hard earned money that I really need, but whatever. Little Susie needs those glasses more. Oh, and do you believe in Karma? Because I'd watch my back. Just sayin'.


Dear Bank Teller Lady:

I'm not happy with you either. When my kid (who is behaving remarkably well in the bank by the way) says to you, "We gettin' money!", or "I made a circle!", or "That's a P!", the least you can do is crack a smile. I realize responding with enthusiasm would be so exhausting that you would fall off the chair that your humorless butt is sitting on. Here's an idea. Get a sense of humor, or a heart. Preferably both because next time I'm going to let him take ALL the deposit slips and yank the pen completely out of the counter as a souvenir.

Dear Guy Who Was In Front Of Me In Line To Get Gas:

I'm also not happy with you. Did you notice, as you were pumping $65 worth of gas into your ginormous SUV and your two huge gas jugs that I was trapped by your honking big vehicle and the other one behind me? Did you also notice that the pump beside you opened up several times while I was trapped behind you? Did you happen to hear my kid screaming, "I WANT TO GO HOOOOMMMEEE?" over the increasing volume of the radio? Nope, I didn't think so. Carry on.

Dear Parents Of Brats In The Mall Play Area:

I'm not happy with you either. I understand. You have a brat. A holy terror of a child who just won't listen and who makes your every waking moment difficult. You just wanted a little time to relax, so you let them run amuck in the children's play area at the mall, while you closed your eyes and took a little nap. They don't listen to you anyway, you figured. Well, they did listen TO ME when I told them every so nicely to MOVE IT when they were blocking the slide and preventing a whole line of innocent children from enjoying themselves. I was quite proud of myself when I refrained from sending your little darling into next week when they ran screaming across my sandal clad toes. You're welcome. Hope you enjoyed your nap.

That is all.