Dear Parental Group LLC,
Thank you so much for responding to my most recent proposal request for “Fun Stuff I Can Do.” Unfortunately, I won’t be moving forward with the course of action your organization provided. Please be assured that I closely reviewed the package you submitted, and I decided to reject your “Attend Kindergarten” project proposal after careful consideration of all the selection criteria, the use of a Nerf dart board, and pure gut instinct.
For your edification, the criterion proposal review and selection included the following:
1. Familiarity with Proposed Project
2. Screen Time Opportunity Cost
3. Level of Imagined Fun
4. My Mood at the Time of Review.
Unfortunately for your organization, your proposal fell severely short in all four areas. For one thing, I’ve never been to kindergarten. If you did your research, you’d know I attended PRE-kindergarten until June. Kindergarten is in a whole other school, with big kids and no cute babies in the baby room. I don’t even think they have a baby room. I’m not interested in being the youngest member of a contingent again. Who will I lord over? The handful of half-day preschoolers? No, thank you. Immediate failure on criterion number one.
Do we even need to talk about criterion two? Your proposal suspiciously omitted any mention of screen time. Nice try. I have complete object permanence. The jig is up.
Additionally, it’s clear to me that kindergarten will be decidedly un-fun. I wasn’t born yesterday; I’m five and three-quarters years old. I know “coloring,” “singing songs,” and “counting” are all code words for school. The fact that I enjoy doing all of those things is irrelevant. I have it on good authority from at least three rising fifth graders that “school is boring.” Fifth graders: the wisest of all sages. They wear deodorant and bras. Do you mean to tell me that they’re incorrect? I refer you back to my request for the proposal. Did you read that title? Read it again. I specifically asked for FUN STUFF. So, criterion three: a complete and utter failure.
Last but least, attending kindergarten means I’d have to go to the same school as my brother. I understand that from your perspective, aligning two clients under one physical roof is a benefit. Less overhead in commuting, no more childcare bill, blah blah blah. I’m the customer here, and from what I can tell, I’m losing a daily twenty minutes of your undivided attention that I absolutely require in order to ask you impossible questions like, “Why is red?” and “When you die, can I have this car?” This lack of customer-forward thinking makes me sad-mad. So, you can see why you scored zero points in criterion four.
Even though I’ve decided to go in a different direction (staying home by myself to watch Bluey and eat popsicles), I want to thank you for your proposal. I was almost out of paper to cut into tiny pieces for no reason. Please accept this picture of you as a crab as a token of my appreciation. If you feel like you can make a better offer, feel free to revise and resubmit your proposal in the future. Revisions, including a generous cake pop budget, a trip to Uncle Eddie’s, and my own phone and/or pony, will be granted an expedited review.
Better luck next time.
Sincerely,
Reese
Contracts & Negotiations Lead
Second Child Enterprises