Sugar and spice, and everything nice. That’s what little girls are made of.
As you grow up, some of the sugar must ferment. Things get a little spicier as you become older and hormonally imbalanced, respectively.
What’s your grown-up spice level?
A.) Ground clove—-You have been known to say, “No.”
B.) Medium Sauce from Buffalo Wild Wings— Lasers occasionally come out of your eyes, unvoluntarily.
C.) New Mexican salsa— Motorists still tremble at the sight of your car, even though you gave your “drivers on the road” voodoo doll to Goodwill, for Lent.
D.) African Poison Death Destruction Ghost Chili, seeds included*—You’re a mom.
*It’s exisitence is whatever.
If you chose A.), B.), or C.), don’t fret. People probably still like you, minus your family, sometimes. Friends will describe you as “sassy,” like you’re a feisty, cute 7-year-old with messy lipstick on.
But D.), D….DEEEE…
I am D. I am crazy. I. Am. Crazy.
I used to be an unopinionated, easy going, nice person. Then, I had a baby. As my tummy slowly shrunk, and my claws slowly grew.
Now, if a passerby looks at my child slightly strangely on a walk, my mind can only think of one thing…vengeance. Don’t look at my kid’s booger like that, construction man. Don’t linger by my basket, wheezing Target patron. Don’t sniff by us. Hit my baby with your wheel chair, hip replacement lady at Albertson’s, and I will discus-throw frozen pizzas at you SO FAST.
And to the man that flipped me off at a stop sign as I was handing my son a bottle?!
I’m sure there is a medication to solve this, but I’m not sure our insurance would cover that 100%. I pray I’m not the only choice D mom out there. Do the mom-talons ever recede?