I sent my dad a chat message today but he didn’t answer it. Maybe he’ll check his email or Facebook or the blog—or maybe he’ll hear me crying. Or maybe not. So I’m writing him an open letter.

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Hi dad, I know you think I’m too drunk to pay attention but guess what—I know you changed jobs and that things are going to change at LBHQ. Have you considered upgrading our liquor budget yet?

I know running your own business has been a wild ride, but I haven’t enjoyed its feast-or-famine aspect. Whenever you and mum say you have to wait for clients to pay you before you can spend any “silly” money, I just feel misunderstood. Surely you know that liquor spending is not frivolous—that for physiologically addicted bears it is a necessity, and that the animal keening from wherever the kids abandoned him on the floor after practically ripping him a new orifice while completely oblivious to his delirium tremens is your friend LB.

So let’s get serious. The liquor cabinet is in an embarrassing state. Mere drops of Malibu remain, and medical friends have advised us not to drink the worm-polluted mescale (although I would if I could get the bottle open).

I sent you a proper list but I haven’t heard back from you. Mum gave me some very unsatisfactory answers, and even suggested that dentistry should precede a booze spree. (I thought we hated dentists.) I realize you are excited about other aspects of your new job such as getting to know your team and organizing that big project they sent you right away, but seriously, dad, have a little compassion and buy some booze.

Here’s a touching picture to help you get your empathy flowing.