July 17th, 2012

Lydia:You Talking To Me?

Letters to people who are unlikely to respond

Dear dude in the black truck with blacked out windows driving past my house - very slowly, mind - four times as I worked in the garden:

WTF, dude? Hey, I'm a lady and have lady parts that dudes in vehicles like yours fancy. And dudes in vehicles like yours don't often ask permission to get their mitts on lady parts. SO EXCUSE MY GLARING AT YOU, but my first instinct isn't that you're checking out my lovely flowers, but that you're wanting to chloroform me and pluck my lady flower, if you catch my meaning.

AND WHEN I MOUTH "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" AT YOU, FLIPPING ME OFF IS NOT THE RIGHT ANSWER. But me approaching your vehicle on the fourth pass with my pitchfork in hand WAS the right answer.

Which is probably why you didn't drive by a fifth time.

And I called the local police station with your license plate number, because seriously, dude: WTF?

Signed, ME, the chick with the pitchfork who isn't afraid to use it.