Monday, July 13, 2009

My Big Fat Stupid Birthday


Holy hell! I am having ANOTHER big, fat, stupid, birthday. Not that I am complaining, because I do love some cake, and old beats dead, but Sweet Mary Mother of God; ENOUGH ALREADY! This is getting embarrassing.

Now I am so old, that not only do I have to lie about my own age, I have to lie about my *children’s ages as well. This would be fine if my children would co-operate except, that my children have never co-operated with me, one time, ever, in their lives. Something tells me that ain't changing by Thursday.

They are mean, these kids.


I try not to let on, but they frighten me. They always have. When they were younger, I had them convinced that I was on parole for selling my last batch of offspring to the gypsies. (It helps to control wild children if they think you are insane. How is that for helpful parenting advice? I bet Dr. Braselton never told you that shit, now did he)?

Anyway, I was hoping that the children of the corn would forget about my birthday entirely.

No such luck.

I received the following text message from Destroy yesterday.

“Happy almost Birthday! Are you married yet?”

To which I replied.

“Thank you. No thank you.”

Destroy, is girl child number two, one-half of the Search and Destroy team. Since birth, she and her equally irritating sister along with their adorable pain in the ass little brother Elroy; have made it their goal to ruin my life. I think it is safe to say that their mission was a success.

Never being one to leave well enough alone, Destroy persisted with her wireless attack.

D-- “You promised me a Daddy. Hurry up, before it’s too late!”
T-- “I promised you a pony too, are you sensing a trend?”
D-- “Funny. It is the nursing home for you old woman! "

Isn’t she sweet?

The best I can hope for is that they will not make me go out with them in public to celebrate. At my age, humiliation and birthdays do not mix.

At the very least, I hope that they do not buy me another goat. That thing was fucking crazy.


Hold me, I'm scared.


Out-T.


* I know I promised never to mention your existence on this blog, but it appears I lied about that too, kinda like that Santa Claus thing...

Image: http://stylefrizz.com/200906/dare-to-wear-tights-with-printed-veins-on/

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