Dear Post-it®, today I was the unwilling, unknowing victim of a vicious attack, made possible by you. All day, I walked around, smiling innocently while my back told the world a different story.
I saw Vanja scribbling something on a piece of paper this morning.
But never could I imagine what she had planned!
At dinner, Anders asked what I had on my back.
Appalled, I realized I'd been wearing the Post-it® for some ten hours.
We inspected it closely.
"Jag älskar ksit".
For those of you who don't speak/read Swedish, that translates to
"I love hsit".
Had my daughter not been such a poor speller, people might actually have thought I was a poop lover.
You made this possible, Post-it®.
What do you have to say to your defense?
Upset greetings
-the end consumer
