Five passive-aggressive letters to my foes (Satire) by Ami

Five passive-aggressive letters to my foes
by Ami

Dear Diane,

I don't know where you come from, but where I come from there are rules that govern the relationship between employer and employee. There is a line that is not to be crossed. Perhaps this line was blurred when I vomited Hot Damn and deviled eggs all over you that one New Years Eve when you invited me over. I was really nervous. I thought you were going to fire me. You didn't fire me, you told me not to worry. I felt okay About that.

Then on March 17, 2000 you preceded to tell me about your boyfriend catching you masturbate and went on and on in great detail. Diane, that was boundary crossing. It was equally boundary crossing to ask if my boyfriend and I would like to watch the two of you having sex. You know what Diane, no. No I would not like to watch my boss go down on her boyfriend. I know I told you I would think about it, and I did. I thought about it a lot, in fact I couldn't get it out of my head. I mentioned it to my boyfriend and he also thought it was weird.

Yours,
Ami

P.S. You think you're so cool. I already know how to make a grilled cheese sand- which. That's easy.

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Dear Rachel,

You have a very loose grasp on reality, lady. You are dancing on the head of a pin and the head has been buttered, like my kitchen floor that one time I wanted to practice dancing. I have a hard time believing that you were not raised by wolves. I am always amazed when you manage to display appropriate table manners. How is it that you are able to sit upright like that? Where did you learn to manipulate the dinnerware with your paws that way. What a fine coat you have.

You are an animal. Your keen sense of smell comes at the cost of your sense of reality. You are a jerk. Logic and reason have no place in your world. You are selfish and you have stupid hair. Get out of my house.

Yours,

Ami

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Dear retards at work,

shut the hell up. Stop asking me for milk. I am busy pretending to win a dance contest, can't you see that? I have burn out. I heard that once you feel like you have job related burn out, you are way past the point of burn out. I heard this at a training for work. I had to get up really early to go to this training. I was pissed.

I hate you all*. I hate helping you with your damn showers, I hate cutting up your meat, I hate giving you positive reinforcement when you use appropriate language and I really hate helping you into your special edema socks. Your fat ass edema calves are gross. You know what? You made me this way. I used to be nice. I used to want to help people, but then you come along and you scream and you smear your shit, or you hide it in the pants pockets of your roommate and it's my job to fish it out and wash the pants. If you are smart enough to hide shit in your roommate's pants pockets, just to fuck with them then you are smart enough to not hide shit in your roommates pants pocket. Dick.

Yours,

Ami

Author no longer works with the developmentally disabled. She is moving on to the mentally ill.


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Dear Grandma,

people don't like it when you tell them they have gotten fat. Also, about what you said to Ricki, that he ought to go out into the woods with the wolves if he wants to masturbate. Well grandma, people masturbate too, not just wolves.

Love,

Ami

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Dear Millie,

One time when I was about six, I was riding in the back of your car with my stepmother, Gabey. Gabey went into a gas station, presumably to get herself a Mountain Dew, which she consumes with enthusiasm―sugar water my dad calls it; says it's poison. While Gabey was in the store, I somehow discovered that in my haste to get ready to go, I had put my underwear on inside out. While I inspected my underwear, you slapped me on the back of my head and informed me that you would have “none of that in my car.”

I assumed you also knew that my underwear were inside out and I panicked, thinking that I had to find a place to turn them right side in before you told my stepmother. Well, Millie, it took me about seven years to realize that you thought I had been masturbating. So what if I had been, Millie? That's a normal part of life, you jerk.

Know what I think, Millie? I think you have some major guilt issues. I think you were probably raised in a conservative Christian household. You're the one with the problem, lady, not me.

Yours,

Ami


Author bio:

Ami has a blog; it is here: My Crumbling Empire.