A letter to the devils-spawn busybody who upset my sister:
Can I call you Ass-face? I know we’ve never met, but I feel like I know you well enough to call you by your true name. After all, if it is your God-given (or would it be Satan-given?) right to shove your nose and your giant gaping anus-mouth into my family, then I really think we should be on a first-name basis. Oh, you don’t know who I am… right, well, let me introduce myself. Your kind (devil-spawned-stupid-people) know me as “You Bitch” (present!), or, “You can’t talk to me that way!” (but I can, and will), or “How DARE you!” (conversely, Ass-face, how dare you?). Great, now you’re feeling that dawning recognition – you’ve either met me or someone very like me – someone who doesn’t suffer fools easily, and, given the chance, will tear a strip off you, verbally.
Perhaps you don’t know why I’m writing to you. Well, of course not, after all, my sister isn’t anything like me – she doesn’t have a bitchy bone in her body, and can barely even pull off ‘snarky’ on her worst day. You didn’t actually meet her, so you wouldn’t know that she’s sweet, timid, and easily upset, even by stupid people (like you).
I doubt this description is letting the light go off in your head – after all, you’re rather dense (like lead), and you didn’t actually bother to stop and think before you acted.
If you had thought, before you acted upon your moronic instincts, you would have seen this scene:
A very petite and young-looking (my 21 year old sister looks about 13) girl is standing outside the public library with a dog. The dog is sitting staring raptly at the library. He is fairly well-groomed (though perhaps he’s too scruffy overall for that to be apparent), and if he were being starved or over-fed, the thick fur would mask that. FYI, he isn’t starved or stuffed, he’s at an ideal doggy weight. It is lightly raining, and he is staring at the library, and sobbing. Whimpers and louder noises that are best described as sobs are emanating from this dog that is sitting otherwise peacefully and relaxedly beside this girl, who isn’t doing anything but standing there. She is probably feeling a bit sorry for herself, since she is standing outside in the rain, and she really doesn’t like the rain. The dog doesn’t like it either.
Numerous other people have passed this very same scene, and have thought something along these lines: Poor dog, he’s so sad! Wait, there isn’t anything apparently wrong with him… maybe he just makes that noise… or maybe he misses the person that this little girl is waiting for. I can understand why they didn’t just tie him outside and both go inside. The little girl is being nice by waiting outside in the rain with her dog. Oh, wow, I’m well past them, and I’m going to resume thinking about my own issues…
Now you, apparently, got stuck on the poor dog, he’s crying and sad part of this, and then, your imbecilic thought process took you elsewhere, and you thought something along these lines: if the dog is crying, he must be hurt. That tiny young-looking girl is standing next to him, she must be the one to blame. She must be a cruel and terrible person, standing outside in the rain, not doing anything to that dog, while he cries so pitifully. And then, you opened your gaping anus-mouth, and shoved your giant beak of a nose right in where it doesn’t belong, and you spewed filth all over my baby sister.
You, from your high horse, and without any background information, sneered and glared and shouted “Dog Abuser!” at the girl standing in the rain holding the leash of her sister’s whimpering dog. And, just in case you actually think that what you said doesn’t have any impact, I‘d like it to be clear that it did hurt her, and that she is still upset by it.
Also, in case you have a soul (and I do want you to feel bad about this), she and my other sister were doing me a favour by walking the dog, because my epic run-in with gravity on Wednesday night left me barely-able to perform even a basic dragging-leg-zombie-walk for a few days. The library was part of that favour. They kept going even after it started raining, because they wanted to be helpful.
With that, I’ll leave you (hopefully wallowing in guilt), for now. But know this: if I ever get a hold of you, I won’t stop verbally lashing you until you’re a sobbing quivering puddle in a public place, as punishment for the bile you spewed on my sister.
Latest Queen B in a LONG line of Queen Bs (who are all out to get you, even the dead ones)
“we bring the ‘iatch’ to the B hive”