An open letter to the charming lady I spoke to yesterday.

Madam, you have no idea how much I reined my self in when I spoke to you. I chose to behave like a professional. The least you could do was to answer me with some semblance of respect and not the snippy attitude you gave me.

The place where your kids where running around and screaming at the top of there lungs is a medical building. Not a play yard.

Being a medical building that place is full of people who are sick. Or in pain. Like to poor man who was on my table while your little monsters ran higgledy – piggldey through the hallways shrieking like little banshees.

Also while you where sitting in your doctors waiting room ignoring your own flesh and blood, said children ran headlong into a rehab office full of weight machines, treadmills and various other devices that can squash little fingers and toes.

Not to mention the fact that this office is located in a not so charming part of town. We have semi-regularly ejected drunks and crazies, and once we had a stabbing victim lurch in to the office.

Really lady? How do you think it would go if one of your little monsters ran into some shambling loon in the hallway? My guess is not so good.

So the next time someone asks you politely to get your little brats to tone it down a notch, you might want to realize that perhaps that person is looking out for the best interest of the charming little screamers.

Eviction notice to my uterus:

I suppose its my fault you’ve never had a job, but really I’ve told you time and time again that this nonsense had got to stop or your outta here.

And I ment it.

And really? Literally sucking the life’s blood out of me? You’re worse than a thirty year old still living in Moms basement.

Eviction: April!

I am SO not going to miss you!

That is all.