I know that chimney is probably the perfect place for a nest, particularly such a honkin' big nest as yours, but as one of the residents in the house attached to that chimney I must protest. Call us heartless but we are not big wasp lovers, although the young woman up the street who protested our attempts to cap the chimney probably is. Why don't you try her house? I can pretty much guarantee that she'll leave you until winter, at least, that's what she told Richard to do. He was a bit short with her, I admit, but seeing as how that was his 8th time on the roof shooing you all away AND it was at least 35ºC at the time, I think you could probably cut him some slacks, no? And maybe even stop squeezing through the taped up slits in the grill on our fireplace doors (prompting me to be rather more charitable to their glassy chrome ugliness)? You are spooking me and the kids with these antics. We know you are trapped and doomed to die in that chimney, but flying drunkenly (and ash-coveredly) around the room is getting to us. It's been four weeks now and your hive shows little sign of ceasing and desisting. I have a 25 year mortgage on this house, so there won't be any ceasing and desisting from my end either. How can we resolve this? Please respond by going away post haste.
Perplexed and Distressed House Owner
Letter to a girl who had to do the morning dishes:
We know that doing the breakfast dishes is no fun. We know that it positively RUINS the summer holidays for you, and we know that we SHOULD really go out and buy a dishwasher if we weren't so darn cheap, but have you ever stopped to reflect on the fact that almost every other chore in the house is done by someone other than you? I counted the dishes this morning and there were only 11. Surely that isn't too much to ask, considering you had a toothsome repast of sweet tea and fresh blueberry muffins? And no, we aren't going to start handing out allowance as a result of all this frenzy of labour, either. We're too cheap.
Your (cheap) parents
Letter to sail on sailboat,
Why did your stupid dratted %$#&ing sail have to rip NOW? I realize it's over 30 years old but that's no excuse - I am over 30 years old and I don't rip during times of bleak financial outlook. I soldier on, like the good Jane Austen heroine that I am. I don't require Richard to spend upwards of $300 on me in order to get me back to reasonable working order. Hmm, now that I think about it, maybe I should. I need some new clothes, actually. But that's no excuse for you. You're just playing on the fact that he's obsessed with you, aren't you? I'm warning you, sailboat. This had better be your last attempt at wresting the Alpha Diva Position from me. There's only room for one diva in this house.
Alpha Diva Sheila
Letter to van,
Thank you for having air conditioning. I love you and your cold air. And thank you for not running out of gas on the Malahat the other day, even though I had forgotten to fill you up prior to our little excursion. I know that 70 minute traffic jam left you rather short of breath. It left me feeling quite horrible, trust me. Nothing like running out of gas on a long and winding mountain highway with only one's rather disapproving teenager for company. Hearing over and over again that one should have filled one's gas tank is not what one likes to hear when one is in imminent danger of running out of gas, particularly when there is no gas station for miles. So thanks again. I will try not to repeat this.
Letter to girl up the road who likes wasps,
Dear Girl Up The Road,
I realize that we have offended you with our callous treatment of the wasp nest on our roof, but that's no excuse for picking some of my roses this morning at 5am. How do I know it was you, you ask? Because I was sitting on the front porch watching you. I was having trouble sleeping and sitting on the frigid cold porch seemed (at the time) a charming alternative to continually shoving the 10-tonne octocat off my legs in bed. I practiced benevolence this time, mostly because it was 5am and I was feeling a little more dishevelled than usual, but next time I will stand up and scare the pants off you. Trust me. That was A Shropshire Lad you plucked. Sure, laugh all you like (it's a weird name but I'm partial to it now) but I was saving it for the Rose Bouquet: 5 In A Vase category at the county fair next week. I am most displeased with you. You might have cost me $5 in prize money. Next time pick the plums, I haven't entered them in anything.