An open letter to K (PM)

Dear K,

Oh sure, I've thought about teaching. I was talking to LB about it just the other day. I mean the holidays! Shaping the minds of the youth! Who wouldn't want that!? Learning more about maths and practicing it. Yeah it sounds pretty good. And those Australia's terrible numeracy levels, ugh, so depressing. 

But what about all those jerk kids? Not to mention jerk principals you'd have to deal with. Jerk governmental policies on education. God, so many jerks. And I would have to learn so much maths! I mean I really don't know anything anymore. Not that I ever knew that much.

But I do really like pi/e.

I guess I've got some thinking to do.

J

An open letter to J (AM)

Dear Mate, 

Everyone knows you are pretty great at being a responsible adult, and don't need anyone to tell you how to live your life. But sometimes you talk about pursing a different career, and because you are my #1 girl, I think about that too. I just want you to be happy, girl, and I've had some thoughts on the topic lately, so I thought I'd put it in a letter.

Ok mate, here's what I think.

I think you should seriously consider becoming a maths teacher.

Here's why.

You are really good at maths and you quite like it.

You've said as much many times. That's very rare, Mate.

It's the family business.

Your Dad is a maths teacher, don't you know. He has carved a nice life for himself. He has a loving family, a beautiful home and drives a Skoda. Maths teaching got him there!

You are an inspirational leader and very good at teaching people things.

I know of at least one person who never thought they would be interested in having babies until they saw you do it with Baby and realised that it was achievable. Leading by example!

You have taught me 1,000,000 things. You are the person that taught me how to pronounce quinoa!

The kids need you.

Ok, this is one of the main reasons I think you should become a maths teacher. Every time I read some report about education, they say things like: there is a shortage of maths teachers, numeracy rates are not improving amongst the little ones, Australians score lower than the OECD average for numeracy levels. Sure, we score higher than the French and the Canadians (and definitely the French Canadians), but those people have better cheese, they have better and more affordable maple syrup and the rest are French Canadian.None of them need maths skills. WE DO! 

Also, they say that a lot of people teaching maths in schools don't have any maths training or special knowledge. They're basically a bunch of shysters. Shysters shaping the malleable minds of our children!

The kids need you Mate!

It's a very family friendly profession.

You'd have holidays coming out the wazoo!

 So that's my $0.02. I hope you will seriously consider it. \

Ok, Bye.

Love from K

An open letter to drivers (PS/PM)

Oh, Drivers.

It’s complicated, isn’t it? Like, it is great how you let people merge in front of you sometimes and go quickly through a green arrow light sometimes so more people can get through. But sometimes you don’t do those things. And sometimes you crowd a keep clear zone so people can’t get through like they should be able to. And I’ll be honest, I’m not perfect. I’ve probably done some of those things from time to time. But I’m trying not to. Really. I mean, that is what relationships are about, you know? Compromise. And having a good time. But do we even have that any more, Drivers?

Tell you something else, Drivers. I drive down K’s street sometimes. You know when? When I’m visiting her. Or picking her up. Or dropping her off. You know when else I do it? NEVER! ‘Cause it is too effing narrow to waste my time with that shit! But enough of that. This isn’t about the he said, she said bullshit. It’s about trying to right wrongs, you know? I mean, if you do live in that street you may well have driven past me doing a 300-point turn in the driveway across the road from K’s because she is so close to the end I always need to get back to and there is no way I’m driving down the length of that mother effing street just to end up further from home and on Sydney Road. So I do my several-point turn, sometimes hold up traffic. Have you cursed me? Perhaps. Thanks for your patience, though. I really appreciate it! But if you don’t live in that street and curse me as you wait till I can finally clear that driveway, safe from damaging cars and death, if you are using that street as something to drive down to get from A to B when neither A nor B are on that street, well, well ... pretty fucking please with a cherry on top, drive down another street.

Thanks
Love
J

An open letter to drivers (AM)

Dear drivers,
I would like to begin by saying that I really enjoy sharing the road with you. So often you let me in to your lane when you really don't have to. So often, when facing a right-hand turning arrow, you are quick off the mark when the lights change, so I can go through after you. So often you exit parking spaces just when I want to be entering them. Most of the time you are pleasure to drive alongside, you really are, and I just want to say thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for everything you've done for me.
But, to those of you who drive down my street, the narrowest street in all of the 3056, a street where there is insufficient room for two cars travelling in opposite directions to pass one another safely thereby requiring one of us to yield in an game of chicken that no one knows they are playing or how to play it,  a street that runs between Sydney Road and Lygon Street and therefore seems like a good idea to drive down but in fact is a street that is two-way in name only, I have a message especially for you. If you are not driving down my street because you either live on my street (hello neighbour!) or have business on my street (such as you are visiting the gym Fit Rig aka the rape gym), then stop fucking driving down my fucking street.
There is a thin asphalt line on my street that runs between order and total fucking anarchy, and every time you drive down my street you punch a hole in that line. I live on my street. I have to be there. But not you. Not you guys. So stay the fuck off my street, pretty fucking please with a cherry on top.
Love,
K

An open letter to Autumn (AM)

Hey Autumn,
J is right about your light, and the things you do to leaves. You got this town blushin' for you girl.
But baby, I can't lie to you. You put a chill in my bones. Yesterday, you sent a cold southern wind right through me and I know you got more coming. Girl, you made me so cold, I decided to stop off at the store to have a look at Lamby on my way to dinner last night.

Remember Lamby, Autumn?

I went and touched her strong arms and nuzzled my face against her soft soft collar and dammit Autumn, it felt so good. But I know she can never be mine.

I don't think I can love you like J does, or like I love a bag of chips,  but I respect you, Girl. And I'm really happy for you and J.

So long, Autumn.

An open letter to autumn (AM)

Hey Autumn,

You know how I feel about you. Everybody does. It's written all over my face and also the Internet, mainly this blog. I think that you are all that and a bag of chips. And I love chips. I love the way light looks so pretty during you and how the sun has this special warmth, like when it shines on you it's just pure sunshine. I love the way I get to wear all my favourite clothes and shoes and my brand new coat and just  feel snugly and warm and cosy and not cold. How do you do that autumn? Girl, you so hot you got summer jealous. You so cool you make winter feel she writing cheques her butt can't even cash. You the one autumn.



Love
J

Ps. Hey autumn, are you friends with The Universe, cause I tried on a really cute jumpsuit last night and I just wondered if there is some way I could get it without dropping 1000bucks. 'Kay, bysies.

An open letter to the universe (AM)

Dear Universe,

I noticed that my hair looks really good today and it just got me wondering, how come some days it looks good and other days when I do seemingly the exact same things it doesn’t look so good. I know drying time and humidity play a role but it just seems kind of random and unfair, or, as Baby says, it’s not fur.

I also noticed, while watching the tennis over the summer and someone decided to show a close up of Serena Williams’ thigh (WTF, patriarchy?!) that girlfriend has some cellulite.  That is totally not fur! If SeWil has it, what the hell hope is there for the rest of the world.

Also, Universe, I’ve been wondering how it is decided who wins Tattslotto? And is there any way we could work something out?

And while we’re talking, do you think you could help me out with finding some serious direction? Like, I want to do something interesting and challenging and, preferably, lucrative. Do you have any suggestions?

Also, could you just do me a solid and let me know if it is right of me to think things will basically just work out. I mean, right now things are fine and I assume that I can make some life choices and things will continue to be fine, is that cool Universe, are things going to be fine?

Thanks, Universe.

Love

J

An(other) open letter to Gorman (PM or PS)

Personally, Gorman, I don't understand why your stuff is Kraft Singles quality at Meredith Goats Feta prices. If I am totally honest with myself, I have to admit that even though you did wrong by my girl, I still like some of your stuff and kind of want it. But  I can't bring myself to buy it when it costs so damned much. 

See, this top is cute. 

But it is on sale for $150. ON SALE for $150? For pete's sake.

And seriously, the cute stuff is few and far between. Look at this:

That dress is straight-up fugly. At $80, it's probably the cheapest thing in the store, but when you add the personal cost one would incur when they are dressed in something so fug, it's basically $500. 

So yeah, Gorman. I'm moving on and I'm not looking back. 

An(other) open letter to Gorman - one year on (AM)

Oh, hi Gorman.

Look, remember last year when I wrote you that letter? You remember the one, where I told you all about the way you stepped on my barely beating heart, denying me the clothes I wanted to buy even though it was before closing time and even though I was just a shadow of myself having sat through the last Harry Potter movie. Even though as I stood on the sidewalk wanting to be let in, I closely resembled the lump of Voldemort after the destruction of all the horcruxes.

You know, that letter? Well it is (almost) exactly one year since I wrote that letter, and I thought you may be interested to know how I've been since then. Oh, hang on, no you wouldn't. I know you wouldn't because I actually wrote you a real letter, an email, to YOU Gorman, not just on Miss Soft Crab, but an actual email sent straight to your people. Yeah I toned it down a bit, just told you of the disappointing experience and you know what I got in reply? Nothing. Fucking nothing. Almost as if you don't care about your long-term, cash-dropping customers.

You know what is really interesting about that though? I haven't dropped a cent on your wares in the last year. And you know what else, based on previous years spending that is a pretty unprecedented. Yeah Gorman, I used to drop bucket loads of cents on your clothes. And now, since that incident I cannot bring myself to spend money on you. And it is not just because the overall quality and style of your clothes have dropped so significantly (though they have). And it is not just because I find the overabundance of wares and looks off-putting (though I do). It is because I don't like you. Because you treated me badly and now I can't see past that. It's not me. It's you.

There was a jumper I tried on at the start of this winter. Warm, handsome, I wanted it. And when that jumper was on sale recently for a reasonable price I seriously thought about buying it. But when it came down to it I just couldn't. It's because I don't like you. And I don't need you.

Sorry.
J

An open letter to Andy Murray (PM or PS)

Oh, hi Andy Murray.

Yeah, I'm really sorry about the other day. That sucks.

But like K said, Roger is probably the best tennis player to have ever lived, so really you should not feel bad. Even though Roger is definitely not at his peak and people probably thought you could beat him, the truth is that he his Roger Federer and the guy has the psychological edge over you. You have to toughen up Andy. I mean, you have beaten him a bunch of times but something happens to you in the Grand Slam finals.

Where's this guy when you need him?

I'm not saying this to be mean. I like you, Andy Murray  You have that Scottish accent. Seriously! The other day I heard this Scottish doctor talking on the radio and I thought he would have to be handsome so I googled him. But he wasn't handsome. That is how powerful the Scottish accent is, Andy Murray. Maybe you could somehow learn to harness its power? I don't know, I'm just putting ideas out there. They aren't really thought through.

Anyway, every time you open your mouth I fall a little bit in love with you. I want you to win, that's why I'm saying these things to you. I want you to win a Grand Slam. Also because I don't want to see you cry anymore Andy Murray. You should be happy. You play tennis really, really well. And I bet I'm not the only girl falling a bit in love with you when you talk. I mean, I know you have a girlfriend, but that's gotta make you feel good about yourself.

So, Andy Murray, good luck to you. I  hope you win a Grand Slam one day, I really do.

Love
J

An open letter to Andy Murray (AM)

Dear Andy Murray, 

I'm really sorry about the Wimbledon thing the other night. You really are a very good tennis player but you seem to find it extremely difficult to win grand slam finals, especially those that are against Roger. 

Roger. 

I bet you sometimes wish you hadn't been born at the same time as Roger. Wish you didn't have to see that perfect ball placement. Wish you didn't have to bear witness to his power and his grace. Because it must be said, Andy Murray, if it weren't for Roger, Rafa probably wouldn't be Rafa, Djokovic wouldn't be Djokovic and you Andy Murray - you would probably be number one. But instead, fate had you born and born with a gift for tennis in the same era as the Roger, the best tennis player that ever has been and ever will be. It's a tough break Andy Murray, and I feel for you. But check it out, Andy Murray: to hep you get through this difficult time, I have prepared a list of things that I think you are better at than Roger. Perhaps you will look at it from time to time, and perhaps it will provide some consolation to you during these times. 

1. Having a lovely accent.

Andy Murray, You have a really nice accent. I actually have no interest in hearing Roger speak, but I could listen to you all night long. Everyone loves a Scottish accent and that's exactly what yours is: Scottish. It must be nice to sound so nice, Andy Murray. Don't bother asking the Roger what it feels like - he wouldn't have a clue!

2. Looking really handsome when you smile

It's the elephant in the room, but I'm going to come out and say it. Roger looks a bit weird when he smiles. Does he have a slight underbite or something maybe? 

It's weird. right?

I'm not sure what the problem is, but there's something a but wrong with it I think. Not you, Andy Murray. You look really handsome when you smile. See?

Just jokes. 

There you go, Andy Murray. Nice and handsome. Roger wishes he looked like that when he smiles (maybe he does, I'm not sure). 

3. Being lanky

Andy Murray, as a young Scottish man, you are very lanky and that's quite nice.

Roger can not look lanky to save his life. 

Nothing lanky about that, am I right?

But you, Andy Murray, you nail  it, my lanky brother!

Having said that, you don't look terribly lanky in that picture, but I have it in my mind that you are lanky, so lets just go with that shall we.

Speaking of my mind, it doesn't seem to want to recall further areas where you perform better than Roger.
But I'm sure there are heaps and heaps. These are just three. And three out of four ain't bad! Its actually quite good, because Meatloaf tells us that two out of three ain't bad, so the logical next verse would be and "three out of four is quite good".

Good luck at the Olympics!

Love from K

An open letter to Harvey Norman (PS/PM)

Dear Harvey Norman,

What the eff is wrong with you?!?! 


Truth be told I haven't seen the ad K wrote about this morning, 'cause, you know I am too busy in the kitchen and the only people that watch TV in my household are my boyfriend and son. Jokies! IDIOTS! As if! I just haven't seen your stupid ad because fortune has smiled upon me I guess. If I had seen it though I would be feeling exactly like K is. In fact I am feeling the exact way K is.

Do you know how I feel when my team is playing and I am cooking and I come in to look at the TV briefly and see my boyfriend watching the footy. I feel fucking resentful.

Eff you Harvey Norman. EFF YOU!!!

Also, seriously, I know you are a successful business, but I would never buy a TV from you. Even before this despicable ad, your ads have never, ever appealed to me. So there!

Love
J

An open letter to Harvey Norman (AM)

Dear Harvey Norman,

Usually when Miss Soft Crab writes an open letter, Miss Soft Crab eases in to it. Miss Soft Crab starts nice and gentle, and then Miss Soft Crab rams it home when Miss Soft Crab is good and ready.  But Harvey Norman, your latest ad is such a bunch a total bullshit, Miss Soft Crab does not feel like doing you any favours. 

You know the ad i'm talking about.  It's the one where a man and a woman are in the kitchen doing some domestic labour. The man excuses himself because the footy's about to start.  He goes in to the living room, which miraculously turns in to a football ground  (I assume this is to indicate that the TVs and shit you guys sell are so rad, they will make you feel like you're at the ground, but I hate this ad so much I haven't even registered what it's for. Truth be told, Harvey Norman, I'm not even 100% sure it's your ad, but I think it is, and I need someone to blame). The man looks really really happy, and then a small boy comes in the room and says "Daddy!" and hops up on the couch with the man so they can watch TV together. In the background, the woman comes out of the kitchen and leans against the door frame and tilts her head as if she is really touched by this vision of the special men in her life bonding over the football.

Um, you've got to be fucking kidding me Harvey Norman.You're trying to sell TVs by telling us:

• women belong in the kitchen, and have no interest in the footy
• only men and their infant sons like sitting on the couch watching the footy  
• women derive a LOT of satisfaction from taking a brief break from their domestic labour to look at the back of their man's head while he is sitting on the couch watching the footy. 

WTF, Harvey Norman.This ad peddles a totally antiquated, totally effed version of domestic life, and one made even more nightmarish by the implication that in this world, women don't like football. What the eff?!  Nuclear families. Women working while Men relax. I guess he's been at work all week and needs to relax, right Harvey Norman?  I guess she's just been at home looking after the kid all week, and therefore doesn't need that time on the couch.
This is the worst kind of bullshit Harvey Norman. The kind that appears simple and innocuous and fleeting, but nevertheless implies things that are totally effed and have no place on my TV, which, I'm sorry to say, I bought at Harvey Norman.  You should know better. And if you know nothing else, know this: I wouldn't buy electronic goods from you if you were the last purveyor of electronic goods on earth. Bam!


Love from K




PS: Also you want to sell some TVs? Storyboard this, mother effers. 

OPTION 1 - Based on actual events that took place at Chez K on Sunday


Note: This scene takes place in a small but cosy apartment, where there are no dishes to be done because the occupant cleverly went out for brunch to avoid creating dishes. Specifically the breakfast pizza here - try it, it's unbelievable  


Woman gets on couch an hour before the footy starts, to be sure she doesn't miss it. 
Woman is delighted to discover that a repeat of Downton Abbey is on. 
Woman watches it until the footy starts. 
Woman has a lovely time, especially up until three quarter time because her team has been quite competitive. 
 FIN

OPTION 2 - Based on events that are yet to occur but universe, if you're listening, it would be really rad if they could occur at some point this winter. 


Note: This scene takes place in a cosy cottage type deal, possibly in Hobart, and there may be a fire going in the background. There is definitely a cute dog curled up on a rug somewhere. It opens with a man and woman in a kitchen. Man loooks like a young Mandy Patinkin. 

Man: "Honey, the footy's about to start."

Woman: High five!

Man goes to oven and pulls out tray of party pies and sausage rolls.

Woman places tomato sauce, stubbies (in stubbie holders...football is a winter sport after all and no one likes a cold hand) and serviettes on the coffee table.

Man, woman, cute dog all take a seat at the couch.

All take a party pie and start eating.

First siren sounds.

FIN

Bam! TVs get sold. 

An open letter to Country Road (PM)

Postscript to J's letter to country road


PS: Yeah, Country Road. J'accuse!

Your inability to make a nice cosy 100% wool knit for women makes me think you hate women. Like you think we are just a bunch of chumps who are so motivated by fashion that we don't care about value or natural fibres. That we just love shopping so damn much that we will gladly fork over hundreds of dollars for a wool blend while our brothers only have to fork over hundred of dollar, singular, for 100% wool. Thick, cosy, 100% wool.
You think that women don't like thick, cosy, 100% wool? You're out of your minds, Country Road.
We'll fork over the money, Country Road, but we won't be happy about it.

Women haters!

Here's what I think of you, Country Road! And this is what it looks like when one buys a wool-blend Country Road slanket  just so one can get a piece of that thick, warm and cosy for oneself. 

An open letter to Country Road (AM)

Dear Country Road

For years I have been enraged by the disparity between your men's and women's knits. The inequality. And for years I have been only half informed about how great this disparity actually is. I was blind to the greater injustices.

For all these years I thought that the problem was that although you sold lovely, thick, warm, simple, 100% wool jumpers for men you did not provide the same product for women. No, for us you provide thin merino knits, jumpers with cowl necks, bat wings, excess size, asymmetry, acrylic blends. For us there is no simple, thick, warm, 100% wool. And this I have held against you. Not so much that I won't buy things from you, but just enough to feel annoyed every winter when I want a nice thick knit like my boyfriend.

And because of this I didn't notice the real inequality. The complete ridiculousness of the pricing disparity. Like the one I discovered yesterday. Why does a women's fair isle knit that is 75% acrylic cost $149 while a men's fair isle in 100% lambswool cost $129?

Huh? HUH? WTF Country Road?!

And it doesn't matter that I love the shit out of that 100% lambswool men's knit. I love that it is chunky, navy and cream and plain cut. I love it so much I bought it. I am wearing it right now and I never want to take it off. I love it more than I have ever loved a jumper before. I effing love it.

But that is totally beside the point, Country Road. Why you gotta price things so sexist? It's the 21st century, man! Do better.

Love
J

Me just loving the shit out of this jumper

An open letter to Terry Gross, postscript (or PM)

PS. Terry Gross, I pretty much agree with everything K said right here. I love listening to Fresh Air. I'm doing it right now! But you know what, I actually don't think you necessarily make all your guests lovely, but I kind of love that. Like when you interviewed Joseph Gordon-Levitt I was all ready to love that guy, 'cause, you know, I kind of love that guy. But he just seemed like a dude, a little bit nice, a little bit annoying. Like a regular dude. That's one of the best things about your show, Terry Gross, less sheen of publicity.

Also I love how you get people to really explain the stuff that they do. I have a way better understanding now of tax, olive oil, physics, all the important stuff, Terry Gross. I don't even eat meat, but after someone told me they were cooking a Christmas turkey on the weekend I could give them all the hot tips on how to cook a great turkey. Listening to so much Fresh Air in 2011 has definitely made me smarter.

Finally, Terry Gross, (and I don't want to sound like a creep but...) I love the sound of your voice. When I put my headphones on the morning on my way to the train station and I hear you say "This is Fresh Air, I'm Terry Gross." I just love it, it makes me look forward to the next 48 minutes it will take me to get to work and listen to an episode of Fresh Air.

Thanks Terry Gross.
From
J

An open letter to Terry Gross (AM)

Dear Terry Gross,

Hello there. My name is K and I write a blog called Miss Soft Crab with my friend J. Perhaps you have heard of us? Just kidding, Terry Gross, no one has ever heard of us. But not to worry, Terry Gross. All you need to know is this: J and I write a blog about things we like and things we think about and we are here to tell you that you and your radio show are what we have liked and thought about the most in 2011.

Personally, I like everything about your show, Terry Gross. I like how you always seem super interested in the people you interview. I like how you make all the people you interview seem super interesting and super lovely. Even the boring ones, like the person who wrote that book about bananas that time. You seemed very interested in that guy, and so I got kind of interested in the banana guy too. It's impossible not to, when you're listening to Fresh Air.  Listening to your show has the same effect on me that listening to one of my people telling me about something they are interested in has. I don't know about you Terry Gross, but when a person I really like tells me about something they really like, no matter how uninterested I am in that topic, I find their interest so charming that I pretty much always walk away thinking that thinking things like  'wow, I guess tropical fish ARE super awesome!'. Listening to Fresh Air is just like that.

I also like how you sometimes seem like a real fan-girl when you are talking to some people, like that time you interviewed the guy who wrote The Wire. You told him how disappointed you were that the show was ending because you really liked it and all the characters. At the end of the interview, you said to him "Thanks for The Wire" and you said it in a way that made me think you were really going to miss The Wire. I thought that was really nice. I also like it how if one of your guests says something that you think is kind of lame, you totally call them on it. Like that time you interviewed Anne Hathaway and she was talking about how she plays this ugly duckling who gets transformed in to a 'beautiful swan' in The Devil Wears Prada. You said that you think it's dumb the way movies expect us to believe that people like Anna Hathaway could be ugly ducklings. Then Anne Hathaway says something like "oh, you haven't seen me without my make up"and you, Terry Gross, well you could practically hear your eyes roll. I loved that.

I like to listen to your show when I am on the tram on the way to work. Also, when I am cooking. Sometimes when I am falling asleep. Always when I wake up in the middle of the night and can't get back to sleep. It's good at all times of the day and night, Terry Gross. Fresh Air really works, you know? Your radio show really works.

Also, finally, I love the name Fresh Air. I love a pun, and I have very positive associations with the term  Fresh Air because of Joyce, this really nice old lady who used to babysit my brothers and I when we were small. Joyce was as kind and lovely as babysitters come,  but she was not the sharpest tool in the shed. For ages and ages, after my Mum left her a note asking that she leave the back door open to let fresh air in, she thought we had a cat called Fresh Air. Nowadays, when I hear you say "This is Fresh Air, I'm Terry Gross", I give a little chuckle because it makes me think of Joyce.

Obviously I'm not the first person to tell you how awesome you and your show are. I mean, you've been doing this show for ages and ages, you know how awesome it is. And your guests often say how happy they are to talk to you. In fact, when they don't say it I think geez guy, pay your respects why don't you. But anyway Terry Gross, it's Christmas, and I just wanted to let you know that I really really love Fresh Air, and I'm really happy that you're out there, and I just wanted to say thanks.

Bye for now, Terry Gross.
Love from K

An open letter to Gorman, postscript

Hi Gorman,

I've got a few things to say too.

In 2009 I spent hundreds of dollars on a dress from you. It's the black one with the pink sequins that I wore to J's 30th birthday party, Bally's 30th birthday party, Pickle's 30th birthday party and Lil's wedding (to name just a few). It was obscenely expensive, even by your standards. It was so expensive, that purchasing it qualified me for some kind of VIP program. I got a free scarf and a key ring with a pink love heart on it (please see above). I was told that as a member of this club, I was going to get notified of special previews, and I was also going to get a discount if I spent over $500 per season (or something like that).

Being in your special club was very exciting for me Gorman. I even started using the pink love heart as my actual key ring. Though I was in no position to buy clothes from you for a while given the absurd amount I had just dropped on that dress, I really looked forward to the time I would be able to return and become the VIP you deemed me worthy to be.

That time came a few months later (lets say 4 or 5). I returned to your store and sure enough, found something I wanted to buy. I pulled out my pink love heart keyring to show the lady that I was in the special club and she said "oh, we don't do that anymore".
WTF? I asked (politely).

The shopgirl mumbled something about that just being a short term thing and it's not running any more.

But it had only been a few months! Barely a season had passed! What do you mean you don't do it any more? I screamed privately inside my own head because I didn't want to look like I was really desperate to belong to their stupid club and was panicking at the thought of no longer being part of it, even though I WAS really desperate to belong to their stupid club and I WAS totally panicking. In order to save face, Gorman, I just smiled while the shopgirl finished the transaction, then left with my purchase.

Gorman, I'm telling you all of this because I think you should know that starting a club and giving people keyrings and MAKING PROMISES TO THEM then not following through is a bunch of bullshit. You can't expect to do that without causing some lasting damage and I guess what I'm trying to tell you is that lasting damage has been done.

And one more thing.

I hope you never have to stand next to your BF and see the look on her face while she is being refused entry to a store, though it is five minutes before the designated closing time and though she intends to spend hundreds of dollars there, after you have both just seen Harry Potter. Even though I pretty much hate your gutz Gorman, I don't think anyone should have to see their friend like that.

That's if you've got any friends, loser.
Bam!

Love from K

An open letter to Gorman

Dear Gorman,

I have been buying stuff from you for a long time. Since you had interesting clothes and I had to buy them from Fat. And now, even though you are not as great and an actual sell out, I still buy your clothes. But the other week I had a really disappointing experience. It was when you had that half price sale for three days. First, I witnessed the worst retail work. I have really strong feelings about how sales assistants should behave. They should be present and helpful but definitely not pushy. Or up in my business. Like, I don’t need you to tell me that this dress would look really cute with a belt or anything. I dress myself everyday. Usually pretty well. But sometimes, I do need assistance, or a little encouragement. An absent sales assistant can make me not buy stuff. Likewise a pushy one. It’s delicate. Anyway, I can assure you there was no good retail assistance happening that day.

I was waiting for dressing room and there was a girl in one of the rooms trying on dresses, coming out, checking herself out. You know what? She looked great in that dress, but she looked really unsure and kind of without confidence, but she seriously looked great. There was a sales girl standing RIGHT NEXT TO ME not doing anything. Maybe folding something. But that poor girl in the dress was getting no attention. It was awful. So awful that I stepped in and told her she looked great. And I almost never chose to talk to strangers.

That is really by the by. Later I was all ready to buy my stuff. But there was only one register in action. Geez, Gorman. It was a big sales day. Why was there only one register? And OMG, the chick at the register was just chatting away as people queued up to make purchases. Such a drag at the best of times. But I had tickets to see Harry Potter. The talking just went on and on and Harry Potter was starting in minutes. I had waited as long as I could and I really had to go so I asked the woman at the register what time they shut. Six o’clock she told me. Great. So after Harry Potter finished, and I had basically gone on the biggest emotional roller coaster of my LIFE, I went to make my purchases. Got there at 5:52. And you know what. It was FUCKING SHUT! I had just seen the last Harry Potter movie. OK?! I was feeling pretty fucking emotional. OK?!? And you lied to me and denied me the things I was willing to give you hundreds of dollars for you know what?! I’m really annoyed. FORGET YOU!

Love
J

An open letter to K

Dear Mate

Um, it's hard for me to say this (don't worry readers, don't turn away, you should hear this too) but I think that we perhaps, for the sake of our cyberfriendship, we need to break up in real life.

I know you tried to post this morning but blogger wouldn't let you upload pictures. I know you wrote it all but stoopid technology thwarted you. But then, then you had to meet me for coffee. One thing led to another, we looked in shops, we talked. Lord knows we ate. And then what happened on MSC? NOTHING! I can't live like this. Miss Soft Crab is too important. It's bigger than just you and me mate. I'm sorry.

Love
J