Dear middle schoolers at Target,
You make me violent when you are running through stores in unsupervised gangs.
I can hear your hysterical laughter coming at me while I'm trying to concentrate on which coffee creamer I want. I see you making your way from the feminine products aisle. I realize that it's completely hilarious that women have periods. If you even see the word "incontinence" printed on anything, you will yell it repeatedly to your four other friends who are busy testing every lotion on display the next aisle over.
While I'm busy hauling cat litter into my shopping cart, you are piggy backing each other from the toilet paper aisle to the baked goods aisle. One of your group, who obviously suffers from severe voice im-modulation, since she's about twenty decibels louder than the Sixpence None the Richer song being piped over the speakers, is squealing "And...ohmigosh, she actually. Said. That. To me. And like...whatever. I don't care. I don't care."
I apologize for giving you the stink eye when we all ended up in the checkout line together and you managed to step on my toe while simultaneously cutting in front of me.
I'm sorry that I called you "stupid crazy kids" under my breath, but loud enough for you to hear me and look at me in that "who is this crazy middle aged woman?" way.
But mostly, I'd like to thank you for making me so, so happy that I don't have children right now. Seriously. I've never been so grateful to drive home in my car. Alone. And to walk into my apartment and silence.
But if you step on my toe again, we will throw down.
And I will win.