Open Letter to My Trashy Neighbors


Dear Trashy Neighbors,

Thank you for inviting my son and me to your child’s birthday party. The water slide was really fun for the kids. Great idea.

I noticed all of the men drinking beers, so when you offered me a drink, assuming I’d drink kiddie punch with the other mothers, I chose beer. I’d think you wouldn’t judge me for this, as it was a beverage being offered and I’m an adult, but I felt like you did.

As I drank the forbidden Female Beer, I felt the disapproving stares of the women. I hope you ladies didn’t mind my uppity display of Fuck the Boys Club, but I don’t have much patience for gender stereotypes, or the holier-than-thou crowd.

Father of the birthday girl: When you said to me, “We should party sometime,” I had a hard time not laughing at you. Are we teenagers in the seventies or something? Is your daughter’s birthday party theme Dazed and Confused? Are we going to smoke a doob behind the bouncy house? Was it the beer thing that made you think I want to “party” with you? I mean really—who says things like that?

Mother of the birthday girl: Your husband is gross. And I am tired of listening to your arguments as to why I should spank my son, while my well-behaved child who has never been hit in his life is shoved around by your poorly-behaved, constantly-beaten children. They’re learning directly from you that we hit people with whom we disagree, and this horrible life lesson is making them the most violent and least fun kids on the playground. My son doesn’t even want to come over anymore because your kids are so shitty and pushy.

So, hey, here’s a little clue: It’s not working. If it did, you’d only have to hit them once, right? And guess what else? Your children don’t respect you—they fucking hate you. By hitting them constantly, you’ve completely desensitized them to all discipline. In stoner terms—for your husband—you started with the discipline knob on 11, and you have nowhere to go but up (i.e. more violence).

When your creepy pro-kid-hitting husband leeringly told me I needed to “smack that ass” when I mentioned that my son doesn’t take naps, not only did I know that you two have discussed my non-spanking beliefs, but I was completely grossed out by the way your icky husband said “smack that ass.” Sexual innuendos and children do not mix. Learn it, live it.

Also: When you hit your 3-year-old daughter in the head like that, I want to steal her away from you forever. She’s a sweet little kid and I hope she puts you in a nursing home that smells like piss and desperation someday for all of the times you’ve smacked her around.

In short: I think you are fucking carnie freaks and I am never coming to another birthday party or play date at your house again.



P.S. You sent me a link to your family blog and I do read it, but only to make fun of your atrocious spelling and grammar blunders. And when you listed “shoot my first buck” as one of your New Year’s Resolutions, I nearly peed myself laughing.