First, allow me to apologise for calling you "Tweety Bird Lady." You see, a certain amount of time has passed since I realized you worked on the same floor of the building as me, and I feel it rude to finally ask your name. Actually, I feel if I were to ask, you'd be suspicious of why I wanted it in the first place, as we never speak. Actually, I really just don't want to know-- "Tweety Bird Lady" is much more entertaining.
You may be curious as to why I'm writing this. And you may be curious as to why I'm calling you Tweety Bird Lady in the first place-- but I sincerely hope not. You see, the oversized, pajama-like t-shirts you wear have caught my attention. You know, the ones with Tweety Bird, or the Tazmanian Devil, or Bugs Bunny on them, with little word bubbles coming from their mouths, all spraying some sort of stereotypical cartoon character lingo.
I suppose those types of t-shirts are not all that uncommon. I mean, I recognize the style, if that word is even appropriate. I have seen it before-- both on 2-year-olds and on racks at Value Village. However... I'm rather curious as to where one finds these shirts in such an extreme size? You see, it's not only that the shirts adequately cover your large frame, but they do so in such a way that if I were to pants you on the elevator, your employer-- God bless him-- would never know. I do shop at Wal Mart regularly; however, they even seem to have their standards, limiting the calf-length t-shirts to Disney characters.
I'm also curious as to what prompts you to wear these shirts to your place of employment...? Perhaps they provide exceptional warmth during your many Virginia Slim smoke breaks downstairs. Or perhaps your boss is a cartoon afficianado, and you believe your witty wardrobe will earn you a raise. Whatever your reasoning, I will say this: your fashion choices have afforded me many laughs these past few years, and while I don't support grown women dressing like toddlers raised in the 1980's, I do appreciate your uncanny ability to lift my mood.
However... A time has come when I must ask you to stop. You may have noticed I already act strangely when I see you. Just so you understand, when I use a public bathroom, I do not typically walk in a stall while someone is washing their hands, see the toilet water still swirling, indicating recent use, and choose another stall. Also, I do not typically hold my breath on the nine-story flight up our common elevator. Your Virginia Slim-soaked clothing has caused some special actions on my part. However, these little quips in my behavior pale in comparison to what must happen if I again see you wearing the nightgown T you donned last week.
In no way does the precious Tinkerbell ever deserve to be blown up to that size. Ever. And in no way should a woman in her 50's ever write the word "Fiesty" across her torpedo-like chest, right above precious Tinkerbell's likeness.
Please, never wear this shirt again, even if you feel it crucial to express how "fiesty" you truly are. If you have a fireplace, or a grill, or a bucket and some matches, burn this shirt. Do not donate it to Goodwill-- even bums have their standards. Do not throw it away-- it may be found by an innocent, unsuspecting dumpster diver. This shirt needs to be removed, immediately, from human circulation.
If I am to see this shirt again, please excuse my inability to stand up properly, and please excuse the fact that I neglected to cover my protien shake with a lid. This monstrosity of cheap cotton needs to go, and if it must come to it, I will sacrifice my morning breakfast to make sure that happens.
Yours truly,
Sarah
