I Might Have Been Kidnapped

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Dear Family,

I might have been kidnapped.

Unlike Michaele Salahi, if this real housewife goes missing, it’s probably true. With the house and the kids and the job, and tripping over your combined 76 pairs of shoes, I just don’t have the time to orchestrate a fake abduction.

Besides, who would I count on to contact the right media? You’re all too busy with school, work, and imaginary sports. And you know what they say: No publicity is no publicity.

That said, if you can’t find me, don’t be hasty. If I’ve only been gone six hours, I’m probably at Walmart. This family eats a LOT of cereal. Find that nice greeter with the perm that looks like she’s wearing a hair net. If she can’t locate me under a mountain of black forest ham, Goldfish crackers, and protein bars, contact authorities.

Before you jump to conclusions, let me admit that sure, I would LOVE to be lounging with Justin Bieber, helping him compose deep lyrics and catering to his every depraved whim. (That guy can do things with Milk Duds…) But in truth, I’m probably being held against my will by those who would bleach my hair, tuck my tummy, and force me to make an ass of myself for money on cable.

Also, I’m almost certainly not hanging out at the White House, even though Michelle and I have been planning a GNO for like — forEVER. But she’s always “busy.” Yeah, right.

It’s true there are plenty of days I do not want to be with you. As in, I want to go live on the moon where no one asks me where the butter is, where no one slings used underwear past my head in search of the “perfect shot.” But, come on. Don’t you know me? Don’t I ALWAYS tell you how much you irritate and disgust me? I wouldn’t just run off pretending to be kidnapped. That would be too easy. For you.

In closing, to repeat, if you can’t find me, tell the PTA I won’t be at the meeting, file a missing persons report, and pick up your damn shoes.

Love,

Mom

 

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