Dear pizza delivery guy who rang my doorbell at 9:55pm on a Wednesday,
Firstly, I hope you liked my blue snowflake underwear. I was so disoriented by my wake-up that I couldn’t even find clothes. For the record, I thought it was the middle of the night and that there was some kind of emergency. Everyone knows you don’t need pants in an emergency (or something like that).
Second, thank-you for ringing not once, not twice but four times while I ran around trying to find pants and waking my three-year-old. Usually when people don’t answer right away, it’s for a reason. It took me two hours to get him settled down.
Lastly, when you arrive at my door saying “Pizza Delivery” and I tell you have the wrong door, don’t look at me like I’m an idiot and ask me if I’m sure.
I am not wearing pants and I couldn’t find my glasses in the sleep-fogged confusion between my bed and my door. I have bed head and my mascara that I should have washed off an hour ago is smeared across my face. I’m squinting to see you. There is also a pantless toddler in a yellow shirt asking if there’s a fire. Do we look like we ordered pizza? No.
Also, don’t ask me if I know who ordered pizza. There are 40 units in this building. Tell your order-person to figure their shit out.
An over-tired, cranky Mommy with under-eye circles and a surplus of coffee.
PS I hope you found that apartment and got a tip before the pizza got cold. Asshat.