Call me strange, but one of the highlights of my day is when the mail arrives. I don't know why the mail in the box is such a thrill; maybe I'm just easily amused.
As a rabid shopper I get about a zillion catalogues. I am in the process of unsubscribing to many of them. Some are still coming for our house's previous owner. The ones that really chap my ass are those specifically marketed to girls. Why on earth am I getting catalogues full of girl clothes, dolls, pink? Insult to injury that my preferences somehow skew toward female child wares.
Today's mail drop really packed a wallop. Imagine my surprise when I opened a letter telling me my "daughter is eligible to compete in this year's state pageant." Apparently she was referred to the letter writer as someone who may "enjoy modeling, acting, or learning stage techniques that will help empower and enable her to accomplish her future goals."
Really? MY daughter? Lucky us!
If I was feeling really morbid, I'd wonder about this dead-daughter pageant. What future goal might she have? To come back to life?
You've got to be kidding me, right? I mean, rational me knows this is a form letter, and I'm on some demographically incorrect mailing list. But really?
Just yesterday in music class I was having mild daughter envy. Once again the universe is messing with my head.
***On a lighter note, the letter stresses NO MAKEUP for participants age 12 and under (whew) and that she should dress as though going to a job interview. Please think about a little tiny girl going to a job interview for a minute, dressed in a little business suit. I don't know. Maybe I need to get a sense of humor and not want to vomit all over this letter.