Letters

Dear Cynthia Potter,
Please stop talking. I know that you know more than I do about diving. But I know that a big splash=bad diving marks. I don't understand why, when the women were diving, you could not stop talking about how you couldn't stress enough the importance of speeding up their dives and how if they didn't go faster they would get a warning and blah blah blah. Then, last night, when Matthew Mitcham, the studly (and, if I wasn't a pastor's wife I might add, hunky) Aussie who eventually won gold, took his sweet time you said, "This is the epitome of poise. Matt Mitcham took his time. He controlled the pace. And as a result he takes control of the entire contest." So, which is it?

Signed,
Annoyed
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Dear Oliver,
What part of this do you not understand. I LOVE the birds you are bringing me. I LOVE that you have become such a tremendous hunter. I LOVE finding feathers all over my basement. In fact, I feel that maybe you are spoiling me. I'm afraid that if you continue with such avian pampering I might stop loving the dog on account of the fact that he doesn't bring me such wonderful treats. You wouldn't want that, would you? If you would like to continue bringing me birds, please try not to strip them naked and leave their clothing all over my carpet. I prefer my carcasses feathered.

Signed,
The One Who Feeds You And LOVES The Bird You Brought Me Today
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Dear Uterus,
It is not my fault that you are not currently housing a fetus. Yes, I realize that Garrett is big and two and generally his cuddler malfunctions. Yes, I am aware that my good friends Joelle and Michelle have had babies during the last eight days. (Congrats Michelle and Joelle!) Yes, I know that those babies are cute and cuddly and very, very small. But please stop having a conniption fit. If you have a personal problem with the arrangement of things, you need to call a meeting. Invite all the reproductive parts and read them the riot act. You should probably personally escort the ovaries. It seems that they often don't get the memo.

Signed,
The Vessel Who Houses You And Often Times Wants To Rip You Out Because What Good Are You Anyway?