How To Fuck Up All Chances Of Becoming A Professional Writer

Dear Stranger,

You recently sent me an email asking if I would be interested in doing some columns for you which got me very excited as I’m completely flattered whenever anyone reads me, let alone when someone thinks my writing is worth sharing with anyone else, especially on a professional level because hey, let’s be honest, I’m no pro and if you read closely you’ll likely find spelling and grammar errors, flow problems (Ha! Flow! Sounds like my period) and realistically, most of what I talk or write about is absolute nonsensical bullshit (I should trademark that phrase) and half the time, I write these things in under 15 minutes and don’t proofread or edit, anyway, as I said, I got excited, so I reached for some chocolate because, yum, am I right, and it’s way too early in the day to drink, but of course, in this house there is never any fucking chocolate when you need it as I make it disappear down my gullet every night before bed, so I found some Doritos, which I haven’t had in 4 years as I’m getting super old (fuck) and the main ingredient in chips is salt, which raises my blood pressure and I am decidedly too stubborn to die young (I have too many people left to piss off, namely my husband, and if he thinks I’m kicking off so he can find himself a younger, hotter woman, that prick is delusional as he knows I’m nothing if not spiteful, which is why we’re both still in this marriage to begin with) and the Doritos made me even happier, salt be damned, but the old blood pressure did rise rather quickly, which made me goofy and I sent you back a nice email that I signed with “Love, Leanne”.

While I’m certain you are loveable, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable with my forward and entirely uncalled for proclamation of love, I mean, come on, we don’t even know each other, and it’s true I do love a lot of people but as you are a complete stranger I thought I should clarify that “love” as I don’t want you thinking that if we ever meet in person that I’ll expect you to sleep with me or anything, not saying it wouldn’t be nice, as this is in no way a denigration of your probable sexiness and prowess, but I am married and aside from all the contempt, I do love my husband and am faithful to him, so I was thinking maybe we might just want to form a friendship and if that goes well then we’ll throw in some hand-holding and cuddling but seriously, no pressure.

Sincerely,

Leanne

p.s. If you can get me a book deal, I will love and totally sleep with you. Just so you know.

p.p.s. I feel really tall right now. Is that one of the signs of stroke?