From The Management: to the lady at Target


The reason we are writing is as follows: Last week while standing in a very long line at Target, you cast several very hateful glances at 22-month-old Ewan, who had accidentally bitten his tongue and was crying from the pain. Perhaps if you were a more attentive mother to your own two daughters (May we inquire as to whether or not they inspired the Bratz line?) instead of focusing your efforts on trying to dress as one of them, you would possess the ability to differentiate between a child's cry of pain and one of ample brattiness. It was reported to us that you not only glared extensively at said child, but rolled your eyes at him, sighed excessively, and made not-so-subtle comments at his expense. You behaved as though his cries of pain robbed you of a quiet checkout line experience; the result of your absence from your Broyhill sofa and that afternoon's Dr. Phil repeat. An investigation is underway to find out if this was the true cause of your dissatisfaction.

Your behavior was first noticed by the child's older five-year-old brother, who brought it to the attention of his mother by saying "Mama. That woman doesn't like us. She's looking mean at Ewan."

Therefore, it should have surprised no one, least of all you, when after quietly observing your actions towards her children Ewan's mother faced you and exclaimed loud enough for the entire store to hear: "HIS EXCUSE IS THAT HE'S A BABY. WHAT'S YOURS?" We advise you to behave in a more courteous manner next time and to save your harsh criticism of a crying child for the privacy of your vehicle. We The Management have audio, video, and photographic proof that your children cried in their infancy.

We also regret to inform you that while certain brain-addled executives in the fashion industry say that leggings are "in style," they are not. Especially on women over thirty-five years of age who wear them under denim mini-skirts. The only thing lacking from your outfit was body glitter, a side ponytail, and a tight t-shirt with some pseudo-clever quip silk screened across the chest. Excuse us; you were wearing that last one.

Thank you,
The Management

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