I once received a piece of fan mail that went a little something like this (ahem): "Are you proud of the TRASH you put out there? Skanky whore!"
I didn't stop to reply and let this dedicated fan know that while "skanky whore" is probably quite an apt description of me, it wasn't used in a full sentence because there was no verb included. I mean, seriously, without the verb, how the hell was I supposed to know what the skanky whore did? Or if she was fairly compensated for it?
But sentence fragment or no sentence fragment, the sentiment conveyed was loud and clear. It was one of my proudest moments, and, wiping happy tears from my eyes, I started walking toward the utility room for the hammer and a nail.
"What are you doing?" the hubs, watching me, asked.
"Getting a hammer and nail. I'm going to frame this and hang it in the hallway next to the kids' baby pictures," I said over my shoulder.
"Um," I heard the hubs say. Something in his voice made me stop and turn.
"Yeah?" I asked, wiping the tears off of the printout so as not to smudge the ink.
"It's just that, well...I'm pretty sure it wasn't meant as a compliment, babe. I mean, she called you a skanky whore."
I blinked at him.
Something in my puzzled expression gave him pause, and I saw his face soften into a sympathetic grimace (he has many varieties). It looked like he was going to say something else, but then he stopped, patted me gently on the head, and walked away.
I appreciated the letter so much that I almost used "Skanky Whore" as my nickname on this blog--especially since that's what it is back home. But if I did that, it would take the bite out of the phrase when I use it to describe my sisters.
In any case, I love getting mail. So if you have anything you want to say--well, anything that's as effusively praising as the Skanky Whore letter was, at least--feel free to drop me a line at firstname.lastname@example.org.