Just so you know, I have a sock full of quarters with your name on it.
Certainly, you spoke with 2009 before you assumed your position, so you knew about my raggedy uterus, dust-covered ovaries, and severe depression due to the corresponding infertility. Yet, you decided to jack around with me anyway.
Really? Was it really necessary for you to send so much major suckage my way?
You screwed with me the whole first quarter of the year but, seriously, what was the deal with March? In case you're not familiar with the old adage, March is supposed to go out like a lamb. I certainly don't remember any lambs in my March, do you? Yeah, that's what I thought.
And the first half of August? You went well above and beyond the call of duty there. As long as I live, 2010, I'll never forgive you for the first half of August. Did you think all that drama was funny, you whackjob?
Then there's December. You couldn't just let it go, could you? You had to squeeze in that little divorce of mine before you and I parted ways. Very nice. Very, very nice.
I don't know what your problem is. I don't know if you just have a sick sense or humor or if you're a sadist. For all I know, you might be a straight up sociopath.
But I do know one thing, 2010: You better run your psychotic butt off if you ever see me in a dark alley.