A Letter to Stacy

Dear Stacy,
I hope that you had a good time last night out drinking and dancing with your friends, and almost every night for the last couple weeks.   It seems like you must have met a lot of guys.  I know this, even though I don’t know you, because they keep calling my phone number to reach you.

According to Jake (who really is a nice guy so it’s kind of sad he can’t really reach you), you would give your phone number out to any guy who bought you a drink.  Bully for you!  I admire that kind of entrepreneurial spirit.  It’s nice to know that Capitalism is alive and well with the younger generation.  Although, technically I suppose that selling the wrong phone number to people could be called fraud…I’m sure your heart was in the right place.  You’re just a nice girl who didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.  I get it.  After all, cute is deserving of a few drinks.  Isn’t it?

Here’s the thing you may not have known.  Your gentlemen friends started calling you, by which I mean they were calling me, still drunk or hung over, two weeks ago.  After the first couple argued with me that I was, in fact, you, and became quite irate…well, I decided to take a different stance on the whole thing.

I know, from what you told them and they shared with me, that you are a student at the local college, and that you are picking up Summer hours.  You must be a smart girl.  I hope you were smart enough to give out a fake name with your fake number.  If not, you may have some explaining to do around campus.

By the time this had gone on a week, I started to explain to people why you weren’t answering your phone yourself.  You see, you’ve been arrested.  I know, it’s shocking isn’t it?  You seemed like such a nice, honest girl.  Arrested!  for being part of an elaborate plot with your friends.  You flirt with guys, get them to buy you drinks, wait until their guard is down, rob them blind (they still had their money?  Well, they’re the lucky ones) and then y’all go on a shopping sprees for shoes and chinchillas.  You know those little fuzzy rat things?  You just love them.  Didn’t you know that you were secretly addicted to owning the nasty things?  The cops found dozens and dozens of them at your apartment.  The stench was amazing.  Really, people were sickened by the smell.  Who new a cute girl could be so gross?

I’ve advised all those boys to never buy you a drink again, and to warn their friends to stay as far away from you and your friends as they can get.  They’ve assured me that they will let everyone know that you should be avoided like the plague.  That should make clubbing super fun for you in the future.

Good luck with your life, Stacy.  I’ll bet that it gets a lot more boring for the next little while.  Instead of the clubs?  How about going to church?  You might just learn something while you’re there.  As an extra bonus, the church boys will be the only ones who don’t know about the chinchilla thing.

Toodles,
the Mom