Scribbling Dame

Preposterous Pondering.

Goddamned Tragedies June 28, 2011

I am at a pizza joint with my kid and my husband. It’s late, kid is starving, pizza arrives blazing hot. Me, being the angelic, well–ok nice, mommy that I am, starts to cut up the pizza into bite-sizes so that baby Tiger can blow on them and hopefully eat them sooner due to the cooling effectes. This was my plan.

Birkenstock heels. Now that is tragic.

Until my kid sees my selfless act and determines that it is the worst affront to a human being since slavery and shoulder pads. Then we had to spend 10 minutes trying to calm her down and convincing her that 1) Mommy was just trying to be nice and 2) she shouldn’t be such an asshole about it because 3) all her pizza is still basically the same.

What I don’t understand is why none of my husband’s “wrong” moves get the same prolonged reaction as mine do. I also don’t understand how on earth a three year old can be so damned opinionated about every little thing and the exactitude with which it is done.

On a daily basis I commit at least three goddamned tragedies in her eyes. It might be time to enroll her in acting class. What on earth am I going to do when she is a teenager and really has an attitude?


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