Mine went something like this:
It got to the point where I wanted to ask her what flew up her ass.
But that’s not proper parenting. I think most experts would frown over using the word “ass” in front of children.
I get the distinct impression that this is her way of giving me the finger.
She wouldn’t stop crying.
And whining.
And crying.
She took off her pants and whined some more.
I was about ready to run down the street flinging my arms in the air while screaming, “It’s too hard, IT’S TOO HARD!”
Then Tommy started to cop an attitude.
And I wanted to ask him what flew up HIS ass.
Then when I went to start dinner this happened:
That would be cornstarch.
ALL OVER THE PLACE!
It somehow tipped off the shelf and exploded all over the counter.
Can I have a weekend do-over?
No comments:
Post a Comment