Hosted by Jen at Conversion Diary.

Dear Blog Reader,
I have been absent for the majority of this week. I have numerous posts in my head but just could not get myself to sit down and type them out. I feel like I should be sharing spiritual insights and Lenten suggestions that will bring you closer to Christ, but frankly, my mind is blank. Instead, you will get the usual slightly humorous banter of a woman who is ignoring piles of dirty laundry and a sink full of dirty dishes. I’m sorry.
Apologetically,
Me

My Dear Sweet Hubby,
What kind of morning were you having? I woke up to find your phone, your scapular and your uneaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich that I am assuming was your breakfast? Were you called into work early at the last minute? Were you actually raptured while I was left here on earth? (I really do need to up my prayer life.) No, I guess you were just running out the door too fast. No worries, my love. I will drive over and bring you your things. It is the least I can do when you do so much for me.
Blessed to be,
Your Wife

Dear Driver from Texas,
Please excuse me for smiling at you on the road yesterday. I was not flirting with you. I was smiling at the fact that your Texas longhorn logo on the back of your truck always makes me think of a priest’s clerical collar.

I know it is weird and most likely I need glasses but I can’t help it.
Call me,
Catholic

Dear Tourist of the Mission,

Welcome to my parish. I am so pleased to have you join us at Mass. I do not mind you sitting behind me. I will be patient with you and your children because I know how difficult it can be to keep them quiet. I am also sympathetic that sometimes little ones need bribes of cheerios and fishy crackers to sit still. However, once your kids are over toddlerhood (and in grammar school) it is best to not let them eat in Church. And it is particularly discouraged to have them eating Jack-in-the-box tacos and fries in the pew, minutes before Mass is going to start. The least you could have done is brought extra tacos for those of us sitting around you. That taco smell is very seductive, making one crave the greasy goodness of tortillas fried around mystery meat.

Ashamedly,
The Parishioner with the Growling Stomach

Dear American Idol,

After three or four years of watching your show, I have finally decided to give you up. You take up too much of my time and I rarely listen to the winners you’ve produced. However, I caught a few minutes of your show last night and already found myself rooting for some girl I heard singing. Blast you. Now I may have to watch next week just to see what the top 13 contestants sound like, even though I am now dating The Voice. This is what happens when you take away my Downton Abbey. I get so depressed I listen to Steven Tyler’s cryptic nonsense. (And why didn’t Ryan Seacrest shave? He’s too baby faced to look good scruffy.)

Reluctantly,
A Former AI Voter

Dear Daylight Savings Time,

I have heard many people marveling at your wonder. They rejoice in their extra sunlight. I hate to disappoint them by admitting that I loathe you. I live in California. I do not need extra sunlight. I have four children. I need sleep. They need sleep. Thanks to you, next week we will be tired, cranky and hunting for hidden chocolate. I’m too mad to even continue speaking to you right now.

Undoubtedly,
No Fan

My Dear 2 Year Old,

I love you very much but this continuous taking my iphone has got to stop. No matter where I put it, you seem to find it. I don’t mind you watching Blue’s Clues or playing your Thomas the Train puzzles but it can only be when I allow you to do so. Not to mention that when you are done playing, you hide my phone. I know you are going through your hiding stage now – shoes in the toy box, car keys in the laundry basket, candy in your underwear drawer but you have got to Stop. Hiding. My. Phone. I don’t ever want to call my cell number and have to listen for the ring only to find that my phone was buried in your sand box. You are incredibly lucky that it is still working. From now on I am keeping my phone here in my pocket where you can’t get it without me knowing…wait, where did my phone go? Egads. I better check the toilets.

Wondering Why,
I Haven’t Had a Heart Attack Yet

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Have a wonderful weekend and may your phone always be in your pocket.