Sunday, May 08, 2005

For Miss M, whenever I decide to leave

Dear Miss M,

I will soon be leaving House for the following reasons.

There is no way I can feed two dogs and a cat, keep them fresh-smelling and happy for two and a half months with $40 and I need more money. Your cat kills something nearly every day—a couple weeks ago, it was the lower half of a dead grey thing and today I was greeted with blue jay leftovers—and your dogs think they’re supposed to shit in the house. At least they stopped humping each other now that they’re out of heat, but nonetheless, it must say somewhere in the health books scattered around the house that breathing in urine and feces every morning is not good for the lungs. I thought maybe if I gave them more freedom they’d stop shitting, but they tore up your couch cushions instead. Sorry. Luckily, you probably bought the couch for $30 at Building 19 anyway.

"House" is disgustingly messy, cluttered with items still wrapped that you bought from Job Lot, and infested with a wide variety of spiders. The fact that I notice another strange object taped to the wall each day, like tea bags or the plastic thing you pull off a half gallon of milk to open it, is disconcerting. I had to clear 35 bottles of vitamins from my foot-high fridge to make room which, by the way, freezes everything no matter which way I turn the dial. The fridge in “your” kitchen is full of really old eggs, vitamins and dead lobsters, and the lack of a dining room table anywhere in this two-kitchen house is confusing. Your clothes dryer doesn’t actually get a bra dry in less than two hours and I believe it’s wasting more energy than my refusal to “switch to solar power on sunny days.” You’ll find that out when the electric bill comes, though, and you can add that to the list of complaints including “ploughing the drive, bloody expensive, and $300 to fill the propane.” Again, I apologize for my excessive needs to be warm and actually leave the house this past winter. Too bad you couldn’t get your tractor out and plough the drive yourself; I would’ve paid you the $80 to see that.

Most importantly, your water turned my hair green, and I know you stole my quarters. Fucking Cheap Brit.

Most of your plants are dead, and I've taken the liberty to have your still-wrapped Patsy Cline CD that you bought from Wal-Mart many years ago. Jenn and I ate your frozen pizzas, the only bloody edible thing in your whole fridge, so you can take that off the $30 you owe me for baths and doggie perfume. Pay no attention to those photos snapped on your disposable camera, and if it smells like weed in here, it should.

I know Zup is supposed to be my emergency contact, but honestly, I think we called him enough that time after the bar when John Fing Bozzuto asked his answering machine if he had gotten his rabies shot. I’d call you myself, but I can’t find you since you faxed me your travel itinerary in French.

The dogs are taking a holiday up the street at K-9 Instincts. Cheers!

Lots of love,
Kennel Girl

1 comment:

Kate H said...

why, thank you. see if marianne feels the same