Dear Miss Blah-dee-blah,
I understand that you don't recognize me or remember me, though we've met half a dozen times and sat at the same table at the Americana Music Conference during a small group's working lunch. It's still me, I'm still smart and know some shit, but sure, I'm older, fatter, and a bit more harried with a small spirited kid in tow. Like today: he was having a rough time. And it sucked that we ran into you at BOTH the Turnip Truck AND the post office and the first place you just averted your eyes, though we were right beside you and I was doing the best I could to tend his melt down and minimize inconvenience to anyone else. You know, it happens. And then he calmed and we went to mail a bill that really needed to go out, but he lost it again when we were getting out of the car and you saw us and then turned away with what seemed like anger or irritation. And we ended up not being able to wait in the line afterall. I surely did not mean to inconvenience you. My kid was just having a rough go for a little while (and honestly, kind of breaking my heart), but I still needed to post my bill and I still needed to either purchase or return my bulk bin items at the store.
You know, we do what we can. I'm going to figure that you were having a a rough go, too, or maybe a few years' bad stretch since I've not run into you when you've been kind a single time since the first time I met you. Whatever it is, I'm going to give you a pass. And I'm going to hope you'll give me one, too.
-- Ziggy's mama, former publicist and so on....