Open Letter

Dear Little Creepy-Crawly Thing that ate my marigolds,

Dude.

Not cool.

I’ll have you know I slaved away on my mother’s day Sunday to plant those little guys. They exist only because of my blood, sweat, and tears (okay, just my sweat), and a sunburn that puts Elmo to shame. Beware, you’ve picked a fight with the wrong lady.

We’re not hosting an intergalactic kegger down here!