Go ahead; nominate me for the Mother-of-the-Year award. I really try to limit her consumption of this shit. But hey, we’re working parents and sometime you settle.
Sometimes you settle so everyone has a good day.
Today I settled.
We were running LAATTTEE! Check that…I was running late. Not because my alarm didn’t go off, not because a pipe broke and I had a mess to clean up, not because the power was out, or because the hot water heater exploded. I was late because I chose to be late. Like most mornings, I purposely hit snooze about 5,000 times. Because me getting up, means Groundhog’s Day starts all over again. Same shit, same cast of characters, same crappy outcome. (This is regarding my job, not precious babes!!) Have I mentioned how much I detest this thing called work? Specifically banking? Even more specifically commercial and construction lending? Oh, it kinda sounds important, but it’s not…just look here. I digress. Anyway, if I don’t get up, the whole house sleeps except for my FatBoy who is slapping me in the face, drooling on my cheek, trying to eat my nose. Oh God! I can barely stand to even write about it! I just want to stay in bed all day and cuddle with that pudgy baby! So, I need to be to work by 8…it is 7:20. Penelope is only 4 ½ and already wakes up grumpy if she doesn’t wake up on her own.
So I bribed her…come on’ all moms do it.
“Baby Girl…mommy is SUPER DUPER late, if you get up now, get dressed and don’t give me any attitude, you can have McDonald’s for breakfast.”
“But Mommy! You said we can’t have McDonald’s anymore.”
Crap.
“I know honey, but we’re really late and today I’m just gonna bend the rules.”
“Ugh…okay.” (Rolls her eyes) Seriously…she’s 4 ½ and has the ‘tude of a 16 year-old. How the hell am I gonna get through adolescence?
“You can eat at school?”
She gasps and yells “NO!!!!” I try at all costs to not let her eat breakfast at pre-school. It’s disgusting. They put fruit in the cereal. Not like bananas in Cheerios or cornflakes. Like canned pears or peaches or pineapple in the cereal. Gag me! What a vile shitty breakfast. I could puke just thinking about it.
So we get to McDonald’s and this next scenario happens to me every single time I go there. Every time. And, it leaves me pondering the stupidity of America for the rest of the day.
How the fuck do you not know what you want at McDonald’s? Seriously. This shit hasn’t changed since 1940, save for the sporadic limited run of the McRib? How are you going to sit in the drive-thru and ponder your choices? Make special demands? Order off the menu? Even if you never eat there, do you even need to look at the menu? No, you know what you want. And all you have to do is say Big Mac…they ask you if you want it in a combo, what size, what to drink? A ruh-tard could do it. But no, I get stuck behind this idiot every single time.
I’m pretty sure God is giving me a sign to get my ass to work on time. Perhaps I should stop settling and get my shit together.
Amen.
Eek!! Scary!!
1 comment:
Read this last week but didn't have a chance to comment then. Wanted to pop back in to way, you're a good writer! I really enjoy reading your stories. I don't know if it's the tone, the flow, or what ... but it's good! Keep it up. :)
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