Dear dog who tried to bite me this morning

It is not cute. It is creepy. It is creepy to the highest degree of creepiness to try and take a piece out of my rear. Maybe your stupid owners have not fed you enough and you thought my juicy rear was a great way to get a week's supply of steak? Not amusing. It has taken me many years, my friend, many years, to build up a rear of this size. What a colossal waste to present it to you to fix your fangs on.

Also, I don't know if you have been inoculated against rabies. While I must admit I am curious, nay even fascinated, at the idea of barking at people and biting them, I like water and I like life. I understand with rabies you cannot drink water and you end up pretty dead. Ergo, I do not want to contract rabies through you.  So unless you can convince me otherwise in Doggese that you are not rabid, I am not going to let you get within biting distance of my person.

Today you caught me off guard. I was holding eggs in one hand and tomatoes in the other. Both you will agree are highly smashable commodities. You came in your creepy manner behind me and if I had not heard your feral breath and your ridiculously long claws clicking on the road behind me, I would have been sitting on the health centre's table getting my belly jabbed with anti-rabies liquids.

Fortunately, I think quickly on my feet having been brought up in the rougher part of a rough city. When I turned around and saw you with lunch on your mind, in a split second I decided the tomatoes would make a better assault weapon.

Luckily I buy tomatoes that are not red and squishy; I go for the harder orange ones. I could have flung the eggs, but tomatoes I can do without, eggs I cannot. All that flashed though my fevered brain with lightyear like speeds and I thwacked you on your stupid nose with all the force I could muster. Yes, I know you must have seen stars, I know that dog's noses are very sensitive and getting whacked with a kilo of hard tomatoes cannot be fun. But better you than me matey.

I did not wait to commiserate, I turned and ran for my life and what luck the eggs were in a hard plastic eggbox or I would have had the makings of an omelet all over the place. But you! If you had had any sense you would have run back to your home of hate, but you are stupid, and dumb and an idiot and a moron. You came after me, smarting nose and and all.

If you had returned to your home of hate to nurse your throbbing nose and wait for all those constellations to stop whizzing around it would have been a good thing. For the rest of my life, or yours, I would have made the necessary detour to avoid your salivating jaws. There was a small chance that you may be equally afraid of me but I would not be taking it.

But you came after me. That was a mistake. A huge error. There is one thing you should learn about me. I panic easily. Oh yes, I think quickly on my feet, but there comes a point in a quick thinking brain when logic quick-freezes and instinct kicks in.

I turned my head to see if you were really, unbelievably, stupidly, chasing after me. The thing is when I turn my head my body also turns, I think it's this slight crick I have in my neck. Or a center of gravity thing and a shifting axis. So before I knew what happened my body had turned right around and I was running towards you. At speed.

I saw the crazed look in your eyes turn thoughtful. Then the panic in your eyes mirrored the panic which was surely in mine. You tried to skid to a stop and skedaddle out of the way. But we were two meteors on a collision course. We met with some force. We both yelped as I fell on top of you. Yes, yes, I know it is unfair. I am 70 kilos and you are ... how much?  15 kg? I flattened you in a second. We were both winded.

You were yelping in a really sissy way and I was gibbering. A crowd collected and picked me up while your stupid owners came and peeled you off the pavement. The crowd shouted at the owners because a number of them don't like you. Some laughed. I found I was still holding the egg box and the bag of tomatoes. As I limped home, I could hear you yelping and felt a deep satisfaction.

Right now I have stopped hyperventilating, I have rapidly made and consumed a three-egg omelet. A steaming mug of strong coffee and I am feeling invincible again. Yes, the miracle of the morning was that the eggs were fine. Only three had cracked in the egg box. These egg boxes are bloody good!  Tomorrow I shall swing by with pepperspray. I have to show you who's boss. Be warned Dog Who Tried To Bite Me This Morning.

Dear Sadist who designed shoes for women and obviously hates their guts

I have never met you. I would not like to meet you. I do  not like what you have done to women over the years. We have enough hassles with leaking uterii (uteruses?) and cramps and bloating and people groping us in dark places, sometimes in bright places and you don't know what the hell to do, because everyone is looking. 

As I was saying, it is a tough life for us women, so only a sadist of the most vicious kind would actually force us to stand on the contraptions you call shoes. There are spiked heels which have got to be the worst invention ever. 

Most of us women are bad at maintaining balance in anything. Rollerskates, skis, frozen pavements, bicycles, chequebooks, budgets and there's that grey area of mental balance too. So to actually make a shoe and then raise it up to stand on a pencil heel, wow, that has to come from some really twisted brain.

The heel height and thinness of the thing is one thing. When you stand on the thing your entire weight then transfers to the heel. And then the brain gives out a red flashing signal saying, shit, the effing heel is gonna break so your body weight slides all the way down to the balls of your feet and your toes.

Which brings us to the reason why I think you need to be caught and forced to have ladies shoes fused on to your feet. The area left for the toes in ladies shoes is a joke. How can four digits and a big toe fit comfortably in a tiny triangular wedge? How can they breathe, wiggle and move? Toes like us need freedom, or didn't you know, Moron!? When they're  stuck together like that for so long, you know what's going to happen? They get squished and they stink! Moron!

Then the bunions form and you actually succeed in your dark evil plan to actually deform a woman's feet. The bunions stick out and get pretty painful and when where are we? We can't walk properly and that tiny pain you get? That's permanent Moron. That tiny niggling pain is deep in our brain.

Standing in that unnatural manner with body weight falling on squished smelly toes, bunions spreading out, you know what is happening to the rest of the woman's body? She gets curvature of the spine. Her backside sticks out and you fool her into thinking that it is sexy. It is not sexy. It is effing expensive, because you have to become a regular visitor to an orthopedic chap. And orthopedic chaps are effing expensive. 

So you say no one is forcing you to wear high-heeled pumps. No, no one is, except all the effing magazines and ads and films which show these lovely ladies with lovely legs saying how lovely their legs look ending in these fabulous heels. I know this is a canard you have spread. But you spread that canard to opinion makers and they have decreed that the more uncomfortable the shoe, the better you image.

Well I have had it. I am going back in time with a pair of Size 7 stilettos in my hand and when I catch you Moron Sadist Who Designed Shoes For Women and Obviously Hates Their Guts, I have outlined a Plan for you. I will first break your kneecaps with my stiletto heels, then I will make you eat the shoes, one at a time.