Dear Daughter Who Texted Me from Appalachia,
Did you learn nothing on your trip to the Gulf Coast after Hurricane Katrina? Or how about your previous trips to repair homes in Appalachia? Isn't part of this trip about discovering just how lucky you are as compared to those who have been born with far less???
Should you not be down on your knees right now thanking the stars above for your overstuffed drawers, your umpteen prom dresses, your precious cell phone, your almost-your-very-own car (okay, she doesn't know Roberta's back on the injured reserve list. . . and let's not tell her right now) your tap-tap make-up, your father's hand-me-down iPod, and the opportunity to go to the college of your choice without so much as thinking how you are going to pay for it???
Did you really need to text me during My Perfect Week to say (and I quote. . . ) My birthday's in 29 days. . . you better get me something SUPER?
Let me tell you something, young lady, you'd better pick up that hammer and knock some sense into that head of yours. (No! Not the nail gun, Trigger, I said the hammer!)
And don't you dare come back home until you do!
And - while you're at it - could you keep your father and sister down there for a few extra days as well? That would just be SUPER!!!
And to my oldest daughter,Veggie???? Even though I know that the immigration officials finally let you into the UK the other morning, it would be reassuring if you would answer my email (or comment right here. . . ) and let me know that you haven't been sold into the sex slave trade or something like that. . . 'cause that would totally ruin My Perfect Week. . .
As always, I'm just sayin'. . . .
