- You know what I dislike more than waking up to d!ck art made out of my breakfast?
- You know what I dislike more than stubbing my toe and losing a toenail? (sparing you the photo)
- You know what I dislike more than wearing an uncomfortable, itchy bra for 8 hours?
- You know what I dislike more than unclogging the toilet?
- You know what I dislike more than debugging code for 5 hours on a Saturday night?
- You know what I dislike more than cleaning cat vomit off of the duvet?
- You know what I dislike more than pulling the hair (amongst the other flotsam and jetsam) out of the trap in the shower?
- You know what I dislike more than the worst stomach flu?
- You know what I dislike more than the smell of my sons’ bedrooms?
- You know what I dislike more than our current state of politics?
That’s right. And that’s where I’m headed today at 11 a.m. on my one day off. A two-hour car-ride to Torturetown, USA for an afternoon of hearing:
“Oh. My. God! We had a gender reveal cake, so we know the sex of the baby, but we want everyone else to be surprised!”
You know what, Mommy McMommerson to be, nobody cares! Just you and maybe your mom and your sister. THAT’S it! Everyone else has a life that involves something other than you and that little vomit machine that’s about to keep you awake for the next 18 years.
“Awwww. Goodnight Moon!”
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Guess what. The 3 little kittens are going to become cats that have a sh!tload of hairballs. The telephone in the room is really a cell phone that will be abused by your teenage idiot who doesn’t understand the concept of not exceeding the data limit each month. The quiet old lady whispering, “Hush” is really thinking, “For the love of gods! Can I get some peace and quiet around here???” I could go on, but for the love of gods, my blood pressure is high enough.
“Ha Ha Ha! This is hysterical. Go the F*CK to Sleep! It’s a spoof on Goodnight Moon!”
Yeah. It was funny the first time we heard Samuel L. Jackson reading it on YouTube like 3 years ago. Now it’s f*cking old.
Baby Shower Tic-Tac-F*CKING-Toe
Yeah. Where’s the punchbowl? Where’s my flask?
I know that some people eat this sh!t up and I don’t begrudge them their fun. I’ve just never been into structured, forced fun at parties. Enough with the gods damned bow hats and wishing wells.
I was vehemently opposed to my OWN baby showers after I was knocked up (twice) and my eventual bridal shower (that I showed up to with a 9-month-old dangling from my left knocker and one in the oven).
Now I have to run. It’s 10:43 a.m. and I haven’t showered yet. (no pun)
As I’m pressed for time, I’m hoping they’ll appreciate the regifted Cracker Barrel Gift Card in lieu of the Buy Buy Baby gift card from their registry and some Neutrogena Naturals Moisturizer (also a regift) in lieu of Johnson’s Baby Lotion.
*Edit: So much for my trying to be all grumpy and jaded. The shower was beautiful! At a mansion (ok, I’m a little bitter that I didn’t marry the guy who came up with the idea of flower-shaped fruit basket delivery) in CT. Aside from the optional bib-making station, it was absolutely stunning and the Cracker Barrel/Neutrogena gift bag was a hit!