Permit me, dear readers, to get up on my ranty rant soapbox and let off some steam, in the vein of Perfectly Cursed Life, who does a regular series of Open Letters on Fridays. You can see them all here.
Dear landlords of New Zealand,
Two words: Wall insulation. That is all.
Shivering and potentially asthmatic renter
Dear people who email me out of the blue,
If you want to have any chance of a reply, then do not pitch me asking if you can pitch me. Just attach your damn outline, your draft, your infographic, whatever. Make things easier for the both of us.
All my love,
Dear people who think it’s a good idea to call me five minutes after sending a pitch,
Just … no.
Get a job, and a life.
A productive member of society
Please stop with your nagging us about not leaving enough room on the driveway for your car to get past. T is a large person and needs space to exit the driver’s side on the right, and space enough between the car and garage to open it up to get to his motorbike (and when he spends time in the mancave with friends). You’re just going to have to live with driving ever so slightly over the grassy verge between our driveway and the next, and you cannot tell me that that alone is ruining your tyres and alignment.
Girl in the front house
Dear deadbeat parents,
Don’t have kids if you can’t afford them, and don’t have kids if you can’t look after them. Simple really.
You probably should ease off on the bad parent hate when you, who have money enough to save, could help these kids out (and yeah, you know the ones I’m referring to), but aren’t unselfish enough to do so, because you know opening up the door to financial help will only unleash a dam.