BY MELISSA MARTONE
I go to bed next to you every night. I wake up next to you every morning, and that’s okay. I love you, there’s no question about that. However, you’d better shut your snoring mouth before I put something terrible in it. Your sprawled out, slack-jawed, sleeping figure could not be dearer to me, but I will not hesitate to sprinkle cat litter in your mouth the next time you roll over and snore directly into my face.
Your Adoring Girlfriend
Dear Man Driving In Front Of Me,
I realize it’s 7:00 A.M. on a Wednesday morning; there is no worse time to be alive than right at this moment. I haven’t driven through a greasy McDonald’s window to get my sickly sweet/sweetly cheap iced coffee yet, so perhaps I am a little cranky, but DRIVE GOD DAMN IT. You probably just dropped your spoiled brat child off at his ridiculously expensive private school, maybe your BMW SUV hasn’t heated up to your liking yet, I don’t know your life. Despite all of those tragedies, texting on your iPhone 6 Plus can probably wait. I’m sure your trophy wife is still in an Ambien haze, sleeping on the silk sheets she bought with your credit card. She won’t see it until this afternoon. I’m sure your boss will see your text and ignore it, knowing that your ass kissing self is on Route 3, driving in to pucker up in person. Either way, get off your phone and fucking drive.
The Angry Looking Girl in the Subaru
Dear Girl Who Swooped in and Stole My Parking Spot,
I’m sure your professor won’t mind your lateness if you sit in the front row and bend over a little bit. Give me my parking space back bitch!
Yours in Anger,
Not as Hot as You Are, But Much More Cynical
Dear Math Teacher,
Do you only own one sweatshirt? Please don’t stare at me. You and I both know that I don’t know the answer to your question. I didn’t do my homework because I am lazy unless I take my Adderall, which I don’t, because it makes me chain smoke. You really don’t want to be the cause of my impending lung cancer, do you?
Award Winning Smile, Poor Attendance Record
Dear Julia and Taylor,
Your parents pay me an ungodly amount of money to cart you both around after school. Being a nanny was not my first choice of career, but it allows me to do nothing, get paid, and be home by 5. I doubt you have any idea how spoiled you are. There’s a word for it… rotten. There’s nothing cuter than two young, redheaded girls. Then again, I consider getting my tubes tied every time I see your faces. You whine, you cry, you pout, and you fight. Mommy and Daddy buy endless amounts of expensive toys for your smiles, hugs, and kisses, and the only reason I put up with you is to collect those hundred dollar bills.
Love & Air Kisses,
The Nanny who pretends to love you