An Open Letter to October

Dear October,

We need to talk.

Normally, we get along really well. There are the changing leaves, sweater weather, hot spiced cider, caramel apples and mulled wine. Usually, we're really tight. What happened?

For instance, yesterday you really sucked. I know it's only the fourth day, but things can't go on like this.

The bladder infection,
the endless allergies,
the hacked email and hacked Zune account,
almost three solid hours on the phone with the bank and Microsoft trying to sort everything out,
the stress of being way far behind on work and conference prep

were all enough to stress me the fuck out. But I persevered.

And then...then I went to pick up a pizza for supper, because well...my day had already been shitty and I wasn't about to compound the horror by attempting to cook. I may be a little slow, but I'm not stupid.

However, I got to the pizza place, claimed my order and realized that I didn't have my debit card. I tore my (huge) purse apart, feeling tears burn my eyes. No card.

I'm mortified to admit that I burst into tears. Not the horrible sobbing kind, but the kind that are still noticeable to sullen teenagers behind the counter. One of the same teens who said, "Are you gonna pay for this, or what?"

I ended up having to call Matt up there to pay for the pizza because the place doesn't take checks and I never have cash. Also? I discovered when we got home that my Italian cheese bread was burned. Not cool.

So yeah...October 3rd? Fuck you. I've had enough of your shit. We're through. Don't bother coming back unless you're gonna apologize. Profusely. I want flowers and chocolate. Dark chocolate truffles.

You'd probably better bring wine, too.

I expect to be wooed.

Sincerely,
Bron