|"There's not much more you don't know about me, except I like big bows and I cannot lie.|
It was quite a busy morning around the Split-level, I must say. Not only did the early hours require me to divide my attention between eating my breakfast bar and working through the two pound bag of Skittles I received for my birthday, but you, my dear friends, alerted me to the fact my email had been broken into.
What's a girl to do?
Well, eat the green ones first, obviously. Green Apple was a solid switch.
But how was I to deal with having my inbox cleaned out, breaking my breakfast bar into three pieces so the twins could have some, and seeing this letter sent to all people in my writerly life:
Entering my email without asking is a tad rude, but that's not what irked me. So, sitting down, putting quill to paper, and sending a carrier pigeon back across which ever ocean this came from seemed appropriate.
Don't worry, I picked the strongest bird I could find. I think his name was Rick or something. Nope, nope. Maybe it was Ralph.
July 17, 2013
How are you? I ask that more as a formality because I'm not particularly happy with you, but, at the end of the day, I don't wish bad health on anyone, so take that as you will and get your moles mapped, check your cholesterol, etc.
Also, before I get to the point, I'd like to apologize. I understand you put time and effort into muscling where I store my correspondence. In my mind, you're a delicate Catherine Zita Jones from Entrapment, probably having some sort of strained relationship with the boss who, no doubt, looks a lot like Sean Connery.
You want to show him you can hold your own in the felony arena, but there's a lot of sexual tension there, so you're conflicted. I get it.
Right, so that's why I have to say how sorry I am for how messy things may have looked when you broke in. Folders everywhere, virtual coffee rings on everything, a trashcan filled to overflowing, how could you work with any efficiency?
Oh, and let's just get one thing out of the way. It was a little embarrassing to have you ask for money on my behalf. I may not be the best person who's ever rubbed shoulders with a budget, but I totally got the mortgage in on time and probably the credit card bill.
I know I had a point, but I had to stop this letter and go pull one of the kids out of the bathroom before it turned into a Schlitterbahn, so bear with me. The kids. The kids. It had something to do with the kids.
Insulting. I found it very insulting you'd say I was in Limassol, trying to make my way back. Because I'll have you know, if I was in Limassol right now, I wouldn't be trying to come home. It's idiotic to think I made carefully constructed plans to sneak away from my family only to renege on that deal later on.
According to Wikipedia, Limissol is awesome. Beautiful beaches, quaintly painted homes, famous for its Carnival and Wine Festival. What's wrong with you? Would you come back?
No. No you would not. Unless you hate festivals. In which case, I can't help you because I love festivals.
So I say "Good day" to you sir.
Until Next Time, Readers!