It’s Friday, and I’d like to share with you a few things that occurred to me this morning as The Beast and I ran a few errands.
This post is rated PG-13 for violent imagery and just a generally angry tone.
- If you take your toddler to a store that does not have shopping carts, do not under any circumstances let your toddler out of your arms. If you do, you had better have that child leashed to your person with a chain, otherwise you will spend 3 minutes in an all-out sprint trying to catch your child who is super-humanly fast. He will find this to be the most fun ever. Those in the store will find this funny. You will not. (I do not actually have a leash. I have considered purchasing a shock collar, but apparently that type of behavior modification is frowned upon outside of mental institutions. I’m going to invent shocking underwear, that way no one would see it. I realize this may cauterize his sperm and make him sterile. I’m willing to risk it. It’s my idea. Do not steal it!)
- In spite of the fact that your purse is a virtual candy store, and in spite of the fact that you’re willing to suspend your views on too much sugar and instead shove your child headfirst into the future with a mouthful of cavities and a raging case of diabetes so that you can shop in peace, there will come a point when the sugar will no longer preoccupy him and he will unleash the full power of his rage on you.
- If you go to the movie theater to pick up tickets that you purchased online and are trying to decide in which concession line to wait, (our theater makes us go to the concession line to pick up/purchase tickets in the morning) do not go to the line being worked by a 20-year old incubusian man-boy. 20-year-old man-boys who work at theaters suck. They are slow. They have no ambition. They do not care if you have been waiting for 20 minutes with a screaming toddler in your arms to pick up tickets that you purchased online for the sole purpose of avoiding ticket lines. They will use the only power they have, the speed with which they fill orders, to cause you to fantasize about leaping over the concession counter and beating them to bloody pulps with a popcorn scoop.
- If you are at the movie theater waiting in line to purchase concessions and standing behind you is a woman holding a screaming toddler who is literally convulsing in anger, read the flipping concession menu and make your selection before you get up to the counter. Do not get up to the front of the line and ask the idiot man-boy behind the counter to explain all the differences between all the different combos. If you’re doing this because you are trying to save a few bucks, keep in mind, YOU ARE AT THE MOVIES IN 2012!! Your bank account is going to be pistol whipped and violated regardless of which combo you buy, and the sooner you accept that, the sooner the lady behind you can get home and start drinking.
- If you are the patron mentioned in point number 4 and you’ve already asked the idiot man-boy about all the possible candy/popcorn/drink combos, under NO circumstances should you ask the idiot man-boy anything that requires him to get the manager. He will leave the counter for five minutes and the screaming toddler in the hands of the lady behind you will try to kick you. The screaming toddler’s mother will let him. Once they leave the theater, she will high-five him for kicking you.
- If you were once a sanctimonious twit of a parent who had a genetically obedient first child, and, as sanctimonious twits tend to do, you told other parents that they should never count to three to get their children to behave because children should listen to their parents the first time, and if your second child is genetically disobedient and supervillainy, yet somehow you’ve held onto this ridiculous notion that you shouldn’t count to three, there will come a day when you will count to three because your disobedient child is acting very Rosemary’s babyish, and when you count to three, this child will have absolutely no frame of reference for why the hell you’re counting to three, and he will look at you like you’ve sprouted a horn on your forehead as you stand there screaming “1-2-3,” and he will not do a single flipping thing to alter his behavior. He might start counting with you, but he will not do what you told him to do.
And that, my friends, is my wisdom for this Friday.
Now, in grateful thanks to whichever lush first thought to himself, “I’m going to let these here potatoes sit in the dark for a really long time until they get real stinky and mushy, and then I’m gonna put them in a colander and drink whatever juice oozes out of them,” I’m going to go make myself a vodka smoothie.
In apology for the anger and violence in today’s post, I’ve drawn a picture.
In the future, please remind me to refrain from writing posts while in the throes of a wicked case of PMS. I could kick a puppy today.