You seem to think you know my sleeping habits, enjoy speculating on what time I bathe, how many kids I have, and you seem to have lots of opinions on how much my friends and family are willing to spend to send me packages. Do you also need to know what the inside of my house looks like? No? Then how about, when you ring the bell and I open the door, you don't step in and start talking about my furniture? How about that? Because I don't really give a single fuck what you think about my hallway or the amount of stuff I have on my counter tops, or how I can better organize my mail. Nor am I interested on your ideas about how to groom my standard poodle. How about this: Fuck yourself.