I'll Smack You Bald-Headed!

I'm now a member of 12% Beer.

What does this mean to you, the reader? I'll tell you.

In order to fit in with the 12% crowd, I will now have to cut the schmaltz and reduce my entries down to pithy, hip anecdotes.

Obviously they have no idea who they're dealing with and should have read a few more of my entries before letting me into the Cool Kids Club.

I really should have my own club entitled "90% Beer", because that's about where my bloodstream is on the weekends.

I went grocery shopping tonight, and I damn near lost my mind and started beating my kid with a loaf of Vienna bread in the middle of the bakery section.

Normally the J-Man is good about the no-touchies, but for some reason he wanted to die tonight. He was grabbing crap from the shelves at an alarming rate and whining his ass off.

I don't take kindly to whining. It irritates the piss out of me. Most mothers I know are able to tune out the horrific squealing, but I can't do it. My ears start to redden within seconds. If I had more than one kid or a particularly bad whiner, I would lose my shit. I'd be mainlining Prozac while reading brochures about military schools. Something about a high-pitched whine is worse than nails on a chalkboard, worse than fucking Purgatory.

The J-Man kept at it, and I'll give the boy credit where it's due - he must have some brass balls. He knows damn well that I hate whining like poison. I asked him quite nicely to stop it about fourteen times, and then I backed him into the frozen food case and hissed:

"If you don't stop this crap right this second, I am going to make you wish you lived many miles away with a much nicer mother. You may think that you can act like a dirty little heathen when we're in the store; but make no mistake, little man, I can beat you in the store just like I can beat you at home. Let them call Child and Family Services, J., because you know what?? They won't get here fast enough."

Follow that kind of speech up with the Screaming Look Of Death, and you will have an obedient, mild-mannered child. I guarantee it.

He looked at me with wide fearful eyes and nodded his head like a small, meek puppy.

Kids are simple creatures. You just have to know how to talk to them.

And yes, I will pay for his therapy eventually.

I'm not that mean.

"Hi, Mama."

All together now: Awwwww...

I love my little baby.

I'm such a cheesy fucking sap. Give me a few years. I'll have at least ten cats and will talk to them softly throughout the entire day. "Mama loves you, little woogie-woogie-woogie!!"

In other news, there is a stack of library books with my name on it, and that's where I'm headed.

Happy Wednesday.

8:57 p.m. - 2004-03-24
13 comments