Dear So and So...

This seems as good a way as any to get my rants off my chest, so here goes.

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Dear Boys

I have so many bones to pick with you it's hard to know where to start. Let's begin with the fact that you're just going to have to stop growing like weeds. It is incredibly tiresome to discover each change of season that you have outgrown all those gorgeous clothes that were purchased for you just a matter of months ago. Every single pair of trousers you possess appear to have lost an ongoing battle with your socks and are inching up past your ankles. And if only 3/4 sleeves were all the rage this year, but alas they are not. And don't even get me started on the subject of shoes. Let me make this quite clear...there is no one in this household any more deserving of new shoes than me. We'll review the subject when you are crippled to the point of crawling on all fours and your toenails have impacted and are on the verge of molting painfully into your socks.

Which brings me neatly onto my next point. Can you please stop eating me out of house and home? I agreed a monthly food budget of $600 with your father, which you appear intent on chowing your way through within 9 days, if I am lucky. What are you, bottomless pits? I would be less concerned if you actually bore any evidence of eating your own body weight in food every 12 hours but you still don't appear to have an ounce of extra flesh on your body. Which is just galling when I only have to pass a sideways glance at a packet of biscuits before it becomes impossible to convince my favourite jeans to be winched an inch past my knees.

And one last thing. Gloves. How is it that we currently possess 6 age appropriate sized gloves in the house and they are all designed to fit a left hand? Are you that desperate for additional fibre in your diet that you have ingeniously ingested the cloth designed to protect your right hand from the elements? Why is it that you don't seem capable of both leaving and returning to the house with both gloves intact? Until that day comes here's a couple of ideas. Either a) shove your right hand in your pocket (or down your trousers...whichever is warmer and offers the most comfort) or b) we can surgically rotate your right hand at the wrist 180 degrees so that a left handed glove fits. Your choice.

Your (It's-No-Wonder-I Never-Have-Any-Money-To-Call-My-Own) Loving Mother x

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Dear Cats

Is there ever going to be a point in time when, each time you inhale and exhale, you don't shed a whole coat of fur over every single surface in my house? I know faux fur singlets are all the rage this winter - but faux fur covered sofas, rugs, beds and...well, just about every single item of my wardrobe is taking things just a tad too far. The odd dust bunny scattered around the house would be understandable. The fact that, irrespectable of the hours spent with either a hoover or a broom attached to my hand on a daily basis, we are still under constant threat of herds of cat hair wildebeest sweeping majestically through both the upper and lower levels of what is, you understand, primarily a HUMAN abode is definitely abusing all pet privileges.

If things don't improve you with either be a) shaved or b) shoved outside in the dead of night for the resident raccoon to have a 'word' with you. And let me just remind you...given the financial constraints of my budget right now - the raccoon is definitely the cheapest option.

Your (I-Rescued-You-Once-But-Wouldn't-Make-The-Same-Mistake-Twice) Owner

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Dear Green Eyed Man

You just need to put a STOP to the use of pheromone charged lip salve, combined with the most effective breath mints known to man, that cause my tongue to seek the back of your tonsils within 10 seconds of every single time you come over to take me out on a date. In the past 2 weeks alone we have missed two movies I am desperate to see, plus a trip to the art institute, and never made it beyond the living room rug.

And if this isn't possible, then at least have the courtesy to lock the front door behind you before the rug olympics commences. At least this way I have a slim chance of maintaining that fragile facade of sophistication and decorum with the neighbours. This was quite possibly jeopordised beyond rescue last week when the front door flew open and everyone on the street, including the innocent bystanders at the bus stop opposite, was granted a gratuitous view of my large white bottom astride an anonymous male visitor. (Although I have to say, after all that athletic endeavour, the resulting breeze couldn't have been better timed.)

Your (Quite-Knackered-But-For-Once-In-A-Good-Way) Date

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Dear Green Eyed Man

Hello. Me again. Just wanted to mention that you are making my oral sex skills look positively novice, verging on inept, in comparison to yours. Not a complaint. Just an observation. Feel free to continue to outdo me for as long as the urge takes you.

Your (Breathless-And-Ever-Thankful) Date

Is it patently obvious that I have consumed a couple of glasses of wine - on an empty stomach - whilst compiling this post? Oh good. Thought not.