Dear Dr. Douchenozzle:
You probably don’t remember me, but my name is Ginny. My son, B, came to see you for his first eye exam, about 2 years ago. The kid had been falling down a lot, and after checking his footwear, his hearing, and the slope of our living room floor, I thought “What the hell?” and gave you a shot.
You couldn’t find anything wrong. (Turns out I actually DID take the right baby home from the hospital; kid’s just got my klutzy, klutzy genes.) Seeing as how little B has perfect vision, never squints or gets headaches, and has started reading, I assumed everything was fine. But you don’t make those assumptions, do you Dr. Douchenozzle? No, you’re so concerned about my child’s optometric well-being, that you sit up at night, mentally drafting passive-aggressive letters.
Dear Mstr. “B”:
According to our records, your last examination was on September 15, 2006. During your last visit we discussed the importance of regular eye examinations, which you know are necessary for eye health.
Our office hours are as follows…”
Let’s discuss what’s wrong with your little letter, shall we?
The use of the formal address “Master” indicates that you’re aware you’re writing to a 5 year old. And your use of dates tells me that by using some Grade 1 math, you know my kid was 3 the last time he saw you. At that time, the two of you had an erudite and comprehensive discussion about eye health? Really? Because I remember the conversation going more like this:
“OK, B, please sit in this chair.”
“Nooooooooo!” (runs into waiting room to play with trucks)
“For the last time, B (after I’ve wrestled B back into the exam room, and am holding him there against his will), what letters do you see?”
“This office smells funny.”
Putting responsibility for his own optical health on a 5 year old, as a thinly disguised means of making me guilty? Dude, that’s low. And the general “Tsk-tsk!” tone? That’s douchey. Maybe even turbo-douchey (I’ll look into it).
I don’t give a tiny rat’s ass what your office hours are. We’ll take our government health care funding elsewhere.
P.S. Your office DID smell funny. Loser.
(Image from here.)