Our Bay-Area submitter returned from lunch one day to find this note from an anonymous concerned coworker.

“I’ll admit that I’ve gained about 15 pounds recently,” she says. However, “At 4’11 and normally around 95 pounds, even with the extra 15 I’m still within an acceptable weight range for my height.” But the real kicker, says our submitter?

“I’m also 5 months pregnant. I just haven’t made a big deal about it by talking incessantly about it or demanding special treatment like I’m God’s gift to the world just because I got myself knocked up.”

(So, uh, I think that’s a no, she won’t be seeing you there.)

related: I am beautiful, not matter what they say (or passive-aggressively insinuate)

Katie in Oklahoma City was cleaning out a box of wedding memorabilia when she rediscovered this note from her mother, written just after she paid for Katie’s wedding dress.

Although I know a lot of brides who would have immediately ripped this card (and the enclosed check) to bits, Katie accepted the gift with impressively good humor. “I found it funny,” she says, “because it’s just the way my Mom is. She signed my Dad’s name too, but it’s from her…just her.”

“Oh, and just FYI,” Katie adds, “I think I weighed 115 pounds at the time this note was written.”

related: Loose lips shrink hips?

extra credit: We hope there’s a Borg scale for every bride! [LIFE magazine, 1961]

Alex and his wife, Kathy, have an 18-month-old son who, among other his hobbies, enjoys pulling off his socks and shoes at any opportunity. (Perhaps he’s a future marathon-running superathlete. Or, you know, a normal 18-month-old.)

Recently, Kathy took her son with her on a trip to the store in their hometown of Las Vegas (temperature: a bone-chilling 64 degrees). When she came back to the car, she found this helpful bit of parenting advice waiting on her windshield.

related: Oh, the Rancher and the McMansioner should be friends

On a lark, Michelle in Florida posted a profile on the online dating site OKCupid after taking one of the site’s quizzes late one night, allowing the site to pull most of her interests and whatnot from Facebook.

“I didn’t think anything more of it,” she says, that is, until she got this “helpful” message — apparently one adjunct university professor’s idea of a charming conversation starter.

related: Not-a-match.com

Sadly, not everyone shares Angela‘s compassion for the portly.

At Julie’s office in Alexandria, Virginia, one employee decided to formalize his or her grudge against artificial sweeteners (and us fatties who love them) with a little help from the reception desk label-maker. Protests Julie: “Hey, some of us just like our sucralose, okay? Or maybe we’re diabetic!”

(In one office break room in the Twin Cities, meanwhile, the sugar packets themselves do the talking…)

And across town at a different office in St. Paul, the office manager (“a fitness freak,” according to our submitter) takes the (relatively) constructive approach with her fellow employees — who are, our submitter agrees, “a bunch of lard-ass geeks who don’t exercise.” Um, thanks?

related: Do your stairs think you’re fat?

Perhaps Dirty Lady #2 got an office job?

related: the most disgusting thing is a nasty lady

Our anonymous submitter from Herndon, Virginia and two of his friends — “all three of us on the large size” — were having lunch at a restaurant when a lady sitting nearby passed them this dear little note of encouragement.

related: hey, fatty

Writes Mike in Provo, Utah: “This is a letter my friend Liz found on the windshield of her car during the time she was dating her now-husband. They framed the note, and now have it proudly displayed in their living room.”

related: A substance user and a player!

Joanna from San Diego spotted this beauty in the public kitchen at her grandparents’ retirement home in Chattanooga, Tennessee.  Writes Joanna: “I love it because it combines passive-aggressiveness with religious sanctimony. Delicious!”

related: no, He uses vaseline

“My co-worker had a ‘meet our bundle of joy’ party in a common space of his apartment building,” says our anonymous submitter in New York City, and these notes were peppered throughout the space. ”Not only did I opt out of ‘touching’ their baby, I also passed on digging into the bowl of Ruffles.”

Meanwhile, as Carson in Atlanta points out, someone else has channeled that parental germaphobia into a bona fide business!

related: this is all about the childern

extra credit: “Maybe You Touched Your Genitals” Liquid Soap