Dear Pockets (if I may be so bold as to call your majesty and knower of all that’s knowable “Pockets” … but I feel that since you have all my bank routing numbers and are a co-signer on my multiple platinum cards, I should be entitled to stand on a little less ceremony):
I am UTTERLY humiliated. My sister, whom I was always taught to look up to since she’s, well, more mature, refused to buy another custom tack trunk when we changed show barns yet again. Oh, the horrors! She used some word I’d never heard … budget maybe? what on earth?? … and said it just “made no sense” to buy another trunk in another color scheme when we’d likely be moving again.
Pockets, brace yourself: SHE BOUGHT A PLASTIC STORAGE THINGIE FROM <<GASP!>> WAL-MART AND SAYS THAT THE MOST SHE WILL DO IS BUY ANOTHER TRUNK COVER IN OUR NEW BARN’S COLORS!
Horrors, I tell you. Simply horrors.
Pockets, I am at a loss. She is stamping her dainty little Size 7 foot down, saying that she will not allow ME to buy a new trunk either! Pockets, I simply cannot be relegated to the back of the barn aisle or – worse! – to the back of the other side of the other barn aisle because of her penny-pinching!
I am in tears. I am humiliated. I just know that this finally, once and for all proves, that I am adopted.
Dearest Pockets, whatever shall I do?
Signed, I Used to Think My Sister Was a Saint but Now I Know She’s a Sinner!
***** I muck, therefore I am. *****