Dear life, Please give me a break.

Dear quads,

Please stop causing me to walk around like a robotic bătrână*. I know I may have overdone the leg presses at the gym on Monday, but seriously? It’s been two days. You shouldn’t be that sore anymore. So please, can’t you just suck it up and let me feel normal again? Because whether you like it or not, I need to keep doing those leg presses and elliptical runs. No offense, but you are too jiggly and I have a wedding dress to wear in 59 days. And a garter that Joe wants to slide off of you at our reception. Let’s not scare people away with the jiggliness.

Unfortunately yours,
Tabitha

*P.S. Bătrână is Romanian for “old lady”. If i knew how to say “robotic” in Romanian, I would’ve. In fact, I would have written the whole letter in Romanian if I could. Because when I mean business, I bust out my (limited) Romanian. (And don’t you forget it.)

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Dear Ross Stores,

Mulţumesc foarte mult. (Er, thank you so much.) You have saved me a ton of money on nice clothes over the last year or so. I love that I can find such great items which fit me well and are good quality and often really great brands, for a fraction of the cost.

But could you do me one little favor?

Could you stop letting in all the really stinky and rude people? I don’t know what it is about you, Ross, but for some reason these rank women gravitate toward your stores. There’s a deadly combination of traits that an uncanny amount of Ross shoppers seem to possess:

short stature + malodorous armpits + bad attitude
=
women reaching UP to grab things from the top racks,
thus exposing the stench,
and all the while shoving and sneering at anyone standing in their way amid the very narrow aisles.
Oh, AND leaving all kinds of clothes in the wrong size sections, on the floor, and in the aforementioned very narrow aisles.

I know it’s a free country and all, but Ross, I’m telling you…it would be a win-win situation if you would begin to enforce some sort of screening process at the doors. At a minimum, please check the following items:

1. Do they smell like cat pee, severe body odor, and/or baby vomit when you stand within two feet of them?
2. Do they look constipated, enraged, excessively hurried, or just plain selfish?
3. And do they have that notorious air of a person who can’t be bothered to put things back in the proper section when they decide they don’t want them after all?

If the answer to any of the above questions is yes, do yourself (and me) a favor, Ross. Decline entry. Tell them to come back when they’ve showered, calmed the heck down, and learned a little bit of R-E-S-P-E-C-T. You’ll thank me for it. Trust me.

Gratefully,
The girl who is in need of some more clothes but dreads the havoc which will inevitably be wreaked upon her olfactory senses.

(Edit: My awesome friend Summer sent me this comedy clip about Ross. HILARIOUS.)

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Dear Santa Barbara familes with wonderful kids who need a full-time nanny,

Please hire me. I will take such good care of your kids. I will love on them, feed them, play with them, be silly with them, teach them about Jesus (if you want me to), and take them to the park or the beach. I will drive them to ballet or soccer practice. I will read to them. I will sing with them. All I ask is that you pay me exactly what I’m making now, and that you don’t have any cats or excessively-hairy dogs, since I have very heinous allergies. I promise, you will love me. And you will save me from going completely insane in a stuffy office job where everything I do is fruitless and boring and terribly frustrating. I have so much more potential than this.

Love and carpal tunnel,
Tabitha

P.S. Actually, this letter could also be addressed, “Dear Santa Barbara company in need of a copy editor, full-time blogger, or bead-jewelry-maker…” Of course, then it wouldn’t be all about taking care of your kids. But that last part? Starting from, “I promise, you will love me”? That’s all true.