Open Letter to Strangers Who are Horrified by My Herd of Daughters

Hello, stranger from the store.

You don’t know me, but earlier today we shared a moment. The encounter falls into the unfortunate life events category, however we did make a connection.

I’m the mom of the family you approached in aisle 2.

Remember us?

I was the mom with five kids – whom all happen to be girls –discussing for the umpteenth time why cereal shaped like little cookies is not going home with us.

Of course you saw us.

I know because I saw you looking at us. Or rather staring.

I read your strained expression: the repulsion was impossible to miss.

When you pushed your cart filled with high fiber foods over to us, I knew what was coming next.

Yes, instead of moving your substantial ass along, you chose to open your mouth.

Then we endured the onslaught of non-of-your-damn-business questions.

We listened to your recollection of your hellish child-rearing days, your sympathy for my poor husband, and best of all, your predictions for our future.

You took time out of your – what I am certain must be a busy kill-joy schedule – to approach us, ask those personal questions, and then impart your grains of wisdom upon us.

Here’s the deal:

I’m sorry your life has been a serious of unfortunate events beginning with your birth. I bet you gave your mom some serious hemorrhoids.

But here’s my request:

Keep your nasty, soul sucking thoughts to yourself. Unless I ask for your advice, time, or money to raise my daughters, I want you to take your venomous opinions and stick them where the sun doesn’t even want to shine.

And now may I offer you a little advice:

Suppositories are in aisle 12. Have a nice day, asshole.

(This post originally appeared on RuckusGirl.) 

About the author: Charlotte McMullen is a freelance writer, farmer’s wife, and mother of five daughters. She writes about her salty sweet life at RuckusGirl.com. Her essays have appeared on Scary Mommy, Mamalode, and Grit.com. You can follow her on Twitter and on Facebook.