July 16, 2007

Letter to My In-Laws

You may not be aware of it, but I do not want to speak
to you and under no circumstances do I want you to
speak to me. I am only replying in order to clear up
any confusion you may have and in order to say this:

Do not contact me in ANY form.


Yes, kids, this is my 100th post. Nothing like a little personal angst to celebrate the milestone and sum up my weekend. Dan and I were actually analyzing the email with more gusto than Lincoln had when composing the Gettysburg Address. (And here's a tidbit of useless knowledge I've gotten from the History channel: he did NOT write it on an envelope, as in the popular myth.)

Why the gusto? Well, the recipent has a tendency to misread or invent emotions or lack thereof out of what most people would consider the simpliest and most specific wording possible. Four score and seven years ago I tried to communicate with my in-laws, but it didn't work.

Me: I think I should say "you may not be aware of it" because that's a possibility and I feel like it will...
Dan: What do you mean? The fact that we haven't talked to them and have been ignoring them for nine months isn't enough to make them aware of it?
Me: Uh, obviously not.

Anyway, in other news...

I made Gumbo for dinner and it turned out too spicy. I guess I went too heavy on the cayenne pepper, although the sausage might have added too much kick on its own.

Yeah, it's a slow night.

But perhaps I will write more often now that I think my computer is getting a tad bit better. The flashing screen has not given me any seizures so far and perhaps it's my imagination, but it appears to be not as much of a pain in the ass as it was recently. See? I'm a forgiving person. Just ask my in-laws.


Glenn said...

I didn't know there was such a thing as too spicey.

Kel said...

You're from the south, right? So you probably wouldn't have thought it was too spicy. My husband didn't think so, but I tend to be too critical of my cooking anyhow.

Glenn said...

I'm not from the south. I just live here. Please don't lump me in with the rest of the rebels. and my wife is the same way about her cooking. She beats herself up about it as I shove plate after plate down my throat.