9th February 2013
Best PM ever,
Silly mums, whinging about childcare reforms. I do hope you’re going to ignore that silly petition altogether and get on with getting these silly people back to work. Of course, the fact that childcare costs many a quarter of their earnings just goes to show that these are all hourly wage plebs and should be ignored entirely. Plus, even though my own children are now in school, I would have been more than happy to leave them with someone who had four under-ones to look after, or six two-year-olds, providing the person looking after them had a degree.
After all, Dave, regular mums actually know nothing about childcare, which is why so many struggle with the lifestyle adjustments of having a baby. If only they had a degree it would be a breeze. I myself always lived by the rule that I had two hands – one to grab each child in an emergency, one for each child if they both needed comfort at the same time – but knowing that there are childcare professionals out there who have the training required to deal with four crying babies in an emergency situation is humbling to say the least. Plus, you know, these kids are going to go to school at some point anyway, so they may as well learn early on that they can’t always have attention when they want it. A valuable lesson indeed which encourages independence and strength, don’t you agree?
Anyway, enough about these pleb spawn, Dave, what I really wanted to talk to you about today is your love for me. You see, I know how much you love to receive my letters – I bet you have a little file marked “Katy” with a heart on it – but I haven’t heard back from you for such a long time now and I’m starting to worry that someone in your Direct Communications Unit may have designs on you. It seems that perhaps they are intercepting my love letters to you, or maybe they put them at the bottom of a big pile of letters from those beastly people like Keith Ordinary Guy and Paul Fussey, so that you are unable to see my words of encouragement through your tears of hurt. Darling, please, give me a sign that there is nothing fishy going on. I know how busy you are, love, but just a little handwritten note, something along the lines of: “Thank you for being my biggest fan, Katy. Lots of love and kisses, Dave,” with lots of kisses at the end like I always do on my letters.
A box of chocolates wouldn’t go amiss either. Or a paddock.