Sunday, May 20, 2007
Serving up a heaping plate of love.
Dear charming lady at the party I helped cater last night:
When you tell your 12-year old daughter not once, not twice, but THREE times (loudly, in the dining room during dinner) how she doesn't need to get her own water because that's "what these people are here for", you made me want to pour red wine down the front of your tacky crochet dress. And maybe there was a slight possibility that I wanted to punch you in your boring, overly tanned, helmet-bobbed, fake-smiling face.
Down the road, when your equally lovely daughter grows up with an overinflated sense of entitlement and she can't seem to find a man who's "good enough", you have no one but yourself to blame for what a selfish, obnoxious monster she turned into.
Just look in the mirror, you shallow piece of crap.