When someone does something wrong, my family always jokes that they’re “going on the blog.” Yeah, I guess this is a bit of a shit list. Hell, it hasn’t gotten me anywhere else in life. And lately, I’ve been getting a little too squishy with my posts. The bitch is back and I’m ready to call it like I see it, starting with a nameless, faceless asshat mom from my son’s school. They say that it takes a village to raise a child. Well, somewhere a village is missing its idiot and she popped up here in my fucking town. This is how it went down…
My little dude is two. Two years old. Terrible twos. Did I mention he’s two? On Wednesdays, he goes to a program called “Mom’s Day Out” at my big dude’s school. I could tell he was grouchy when I picked him up, so all it took was me not letting him get his drink from the water fountain to set in motion a tantrum to beat out all tantrums. He’d walk a foot and then plop himself down and cry. There’s about a million feet (okay, slight exaggeration) between the school and my car, so you see where this is going. It was a bit of a spectacle. I mean, what’s a girl to do, right? I did the typical shrug of the shoulders with the one-two punch self-deprecating joke, asking if anyone wanted to take him home for the day.
By the time we got to the parking lot, cars were heading out, so the shit really hit the fan. And when I went to pick him up, he was using all his might to plop back down, all the while Big Dude’s artwork was flying all over the parking lot. I’ve mentioned this before, but this is when I start to have an out-of-body experience. I look at myself, as if floating above, and think, “Oh that poor woman. She’s really having a hard time. And she needs to color her roots.” By the time I’d wrestled him into the car, he was screaming, I was sweating like a crack whore in detox, and papers were everywhere. My friend came over and helped me pick them up, but not before she mentioned that Asshat Mom had said something to the effect of, “What is WRONG with that kid?”
Let me break this down for you. Here is what you do when you see someone’s kid having a tantrum (and I just saw a doozie yesterday at Target, btw). If you’re close enough to reach her, you either offer her the flask you have tucked in your underpants, pat her on the back with a “there, there,” or you simply tell her “I’ve been there, girlfriend.” That’s all anyone needs to hear. If you’re farther away but still within earshot, you pretend you don’t hear a thing while you whistle a happy little ditty. “Nothin’ to see here, folks.” Here are a list of things you DON’T FUCKING DO, lest you end up on the shit list:
Stand there staring like you’ve seen an accident on the highway. By the way, when you do this when there’s an accident on the highway, it’s still fucking annoying.
Shake your head while mumbling something superior under your breath about what you would do in said situation, so the mom feels like a total and utter dick.
Turn to someone next to you to badmouth that person, as that person could be a FRIEND of the poor, frazzled mom, DUMB SHIT!
Sit down, beeyatch, you’ve just been shit-listed.
P.S. Your kid’s an asshole. Ya know how I know that? Because you’re an asshole. P.P.S. Bite me.