Category Archives: open letters

Dear Boobies (an open letter)

Dear Boobies,

I’ve noticed lately that you’ve been looking a little droopy. We’ve been through so much together. From those first days at age 12 when you arrived far ahead of schedule and much larger than those of girls older than I. Our first few years were hard. Because of you I endured such taunts as “Look who’s wearing an over the shoulder boulder holder” and “Be careful or you’ll fall over”. I have to admit that at first I didn’t like you very much.
Then came the good years. It was great to be 17 years old and cup size C. I think that you are largely to thank for the B+ I got in Mr. Bradley’s biology class. The grand old gentleman spent a lot of time stooped over my shoulder “helping” me with my desk work. I mean who ever heard of someone getting a grade like that when they seldom turned in homework or got better than a C on a quiz? You saved me from many ugly pin on corsages. Most of my dates opting for the wrist style after the first boy had a run in with my dad about pinning flowers to my chest in his presence.

In my late teens and early 20s your mere presence was key to many of my adventures. I doubt I would have been stopped on the beach in San Diego and asked to be on the MTV beach show if you hadn’t filled out my neon bikini top so well.

Then came the first of my four children and our relationship changed. Who’d have known you were so multitalented? Or that this new stage of our relationship would be so fulfilling I thank you every time I see the price of formula in a store or look at my healthy kids.
So why is it that you’ve strayed so far away from me? Is my belly button that interesting? Have I offended you in some way? Okay, I know I could stand to loose some weight. But I just lost over 50 pounds and all you did was go squishy on me and sprout deep stretch marks. All the while remaining your unmanageable size DD. Is this your way of pouting about the lack of choices out there for bras in our size? Trust me I too wish we could find more cute as well as functional foundation garments. I suppose the only people who need lift and separation are those that do not require support as well.

I wish I could find a way to perk you up again. If you’ve got any ideas please share them me now. For I fear our only hope involves a sharp knife and 2 to 3 weeks recovery time.

open letter (thanks for the prompt SITS)

Dear Stomach Virus,

I understand that your entire reason for being is to infect the human body. That you live to reproduce, not unlike we humans ourselves. I have always considered myself an proponent of the pursuit of happiness for all. That being said, I simply can not live with you in my home.

When my darling daughter came off the bus yesterday, telling me her tummy hurt, I simply chalked it up to her usual homeworkitus. After all she had no problem inhaling the cupcakes I’d made for after school snack. Nor did she abstain from running around my once clean family room like a crazy person with her siblings or the other sorted neighborhood children.

After the ruckus died down you found it necessary to announce your arrival by forcing her body into a vomitious attack in an attempt to rid itself of you. As I disinfected the downstairs bathroom, all the while fighting a battle with my own bile, I hoped in vain that you had not come home to roost here.

Those hopes were dashed in grand fashion as my poor child lost control of both ends of her digestive system simultaneously, managing to miss the commode with both. I battled against reflexes while scrubbing, moping, sanitizing and attempting to comfort. This struggle continued throughout the evening and into the early morning hours.

I have to say that at this point I harbor nothing but disdain for you and your ilk. I want you out of my child. Expunged from my home. Wiped from the face of the earth. At the point where your pursuit of happiness collided with my dropping a roll of paper towels into puddle of poo, splattering said excrement like a Jackson Pollock mural upon the walls of my restroom. My own happiness became paramount and I declared war upon you and all your infectious kind.

Please take note that you are no longer on our Christmas card list.

With Malice,

A mom sick of the s#!t