it has not been my week.

Dear Clients:

I realize that you each believe that you are my single most important client ever. However, this is not the case. The hard, awful truth is your piddling 50,000.00 contract does not really compare with other, much larger contracts.

I do not tell you this, because I am not rude. However, this fact does determine your placement on my callback list. You left me a message Wednesday afternoon. It is Thursday evening. Do not expect a call from me until Friday afternoon at the earliest.

When you call and say, "OMG I LEFT A MESSAGE AND NO ONE CALLED ME BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!," I will laugh at you.

Busily yours,

Lex

***

Dear weird man at the small family-owned pet store:

I come into this store at least once a month. I have been coming here for at least two years. This is at least 24 times that you have seen me.

I always buy the same exact things, a bag of a very obscure brand of cat food and a bag of equally obscure litter.

I am probably the only person in the entire state that consistently buys these two things together.

Then why, may I ask, do you appear surprised EVERY TIME YOU SEE ME?

Also, please utilize the dog clippers to groom your own ears.

Repulsed by yetis,

Lex

***

Dear Doctor and Physical Therapist:

You both mentioned, within days of each other, that I looked like I was someone's mom. Please note that fat and tired does not necessarily equal motherhood. In many cases, yes. In my case, not so much.

Tiredly yours,

Lex

***

Dear Rotator Cuff:

BITE ME.

No love,

Lex

***

Dear Saleswoman at Nordstrom:

When you accosted me yesterday evening, I realize that I looked like a hot mess. My hair was wrapped on my head, and I had on sneakers, jeans, an inside-out fleece sweatshirt, and a faux-shearling coat. I also realize that I am a plus-size woman.

However, there was no need for you to come charging at me while I was merely walking through your department to snarl, "THIS IS THE PETITE DEPARTMENT, YOU ARE NOT PETITE!!!"

No shit! Really? I would have preferred you go with your first thought, which was undoubtedly, "Hey fatty, get out of my department before you try to ruin and/or steal something."

Take a goddamn Xanax,

Lex

***

Dear Salesgirl at Sephora:

Again, I realize that I looked like hell last night, but there was no need to helpfully chirp, "You know, we're having makeovers on Saturday, you should come by!" at me.

I wanted to take your size 0, made-up ass and crumple it into a shopping bag to be used as a soccer ball for fat, tired, no make-up wearin' women everywhere.

Have a sandwich,

Lex