Dear The Boy's Mom,
Hi. I know we've known each other for about a year now, but I feel like we don't really know one another very well. Let me start out by saying, my, what a lovely son you have. I mean, really. Good job there. I think he's pretty awesome, as you may have gathered by the fact that I let him impregnate me, but one can never stress the positive too much so, again, nice work. Thumbs up.
Also? I like your hair. The color of it, I mean. The cut wouldn't flatter me, being kind of short and severe like it is, but it works on you. It looks nice. I'm not just saying that because I'm afraid of you. But I am afraid of you.
I don't know what else to say, other than how 'bout them Bears and WOW, what unseasonably cool weather we've been having! Have the grasshoppers been bad out in your neck of the woods? Because in town, my goodness, they're just everywhere. You can't throw a piss without hitting a hundred of those big boys, and they're really causing a problem with crops, or so I hear. Not that I have crops, as you know, but I do hear things about people that have them, and man... What a sucky year. To have crops. I... Am I right? Heh. Uh...
Oh, well, I guess I should mention, before I forget... Not that it's any big deal or anything, or that it matters at all, and I know I've already told you a couple (dozen) times, but again, I feel I need to stress it so kind of bear with me: I'm not getting rid of my 20+ pound, elderly, long-haired cat because you're concerned he's going to literally suck the life out of my baby. I'm not going to let him 'try to eat the dried milk off the baby's face' so I don't know how he'd manage to get his massive ass on top of the kid in the first place, but I do thank you for your obvious and repetitive concern on this matter. I know it's out of love, and not your conviction that I'm too stupid to keep your grandchild alive. What? No, of course I do!
But ...Did I tell you that he's kind of crippled, my cat, and not so good at jumping? So, although I know I'll have to be aware of possible assassination attempts when I put my new-born on the floor and leave him unattended in a room by himself with the animal, I don't really think Mr. Big Stuff is going to be able to heave his gigantic ass into the crib and kill the baby that way. Just so you know. And I'll try to be as vigilant as I can when I pull both my infant and my kitty onto my lap, letting one nibble on the lips of the other, so that when the cat looks like he's starting to suck the air out of my son I can put a stop to that shit right there. We won't be having any baby lung sucking on my watch, ha ha ha.
I know your concern isn't limited to the fact that my cat is obviously from Hell and has evil in his murderous heart, but also that his long hair will give the baby DEADLY ALLERGIES, because your doctor 27 years ago told you that it was possible. You did mention that you selflessly got rid of your cat when The Boy was born and that he and his sisters have never had any allergies. You may have mentioned (repeatedly) that you loved that cat, but you loved your children MORE, and look how much good it's done for THEM, and I have to agree: You are obviously a saint.
Although, and not that I'm criticizing, I don't know how it's managed to escape your attention that your son actually DOES have allergies, or that his dog also has long hair. I only mention this because I notice that you aren't worried about her (the dog) shedding causing our child to become weak and frail and DIE, probably also from suffocation.
This brings me to another point. I'm worried about you, The Boy's Mom. Why does suffocation frighten you so? Were you asphyxiated as a child? Is there a hidden trauma you need to talk about? I'm here if you need an ear, and I'd be happy to listen to your woes.
Sort of along the same vein but not really at all, I just kind of wanted to mention that, well... you know the house your son and I are currently moving into? The one both of us are buying together, with our money, for our family and our (hopefully unsuffocated- cross your fingers!) child? Yeah. I really hate the upstairs bathroom. I hate that there is CARPET in it. I hate that the walls are SPONGE PAINTED and that there is a wallpaper border along the ceiling with random seashells in varying shades of PINK. That bathroom is not really 'me' at all. I know you love it and you think it's classy, and you can't imagine why I'd want to change it apart from the fact that I'm obviously blind or stupid and regardless, must not be good enough for your son. But I do want to change it, and that doesn't mean I've got bad taste or I'm dense, and even if I want to paint the walls in goat blood and drill a chute to China in the middle of the floor, I can do that because the bathroom is mine and not yours so it's really not up to you... Unless you're confused and think you're the one moving in with your son, in which case that brings up an entirely new set of concerns. A set of concerns which could lead to extended hospitalization. In theory. Not that I'm making a threat. No, of course I'm not!
Well, The Boy's Mom, I guess that's kind of it for now. I sure appreciate you taking the time to absorb what I have to say. I know the letter is long, but I figured perhaps written words could get my point across better than the words I speak, which you apparently cannot hear. We really need to find some way around this language barrier, TBM! I know we both speak English, but I fear my dialect must be very different from yours. (Maybe I was exposed to cats as an infant? No. Couldn't be. I don't seem to be dying of suffocation. Must be something else.)
Well, alrighty! I guess we'll talk (or write?) to you soon!