Let me tell you a little story about a boy who met a girl one sunny May 23rd in 2005, after entering the world through her torn-up vagoogle, along with about thirty gallons of blood and a placenta that resembled a dead Man-O-War.
After six weeks of Pre-Eclampsia Hell, that included a 65 lb weight gain and a nose that grew out of control until it ate her entire face, they met one another.
And the overgrown feet and huge numb titties and the swollen everything and the fact that she couldn't poop for weeks did not matter because she had her little gorgeous bundle of perfection in her arms.
Fast forward to nineteen-months later, and a cool, crisp morning in January when suddenly the boy's mad love for the girl turned into complete and utter disdain. (Actually Hate would be a more suitable word.) Suddenly, out of the blue, the boy wanted nothing to do with the girl and her "wack-ass bullshit". The boy wanted his daddy. ONLY DADDY! And when daddy wasn't there? He had tantrums and smacked the girl in the face...
And if he could speak he would say, "Bitch? Please."
And if the girl wasn't completely in love with his punk-ass self she might throw her hands in the air and tell him to "find his own way home" before leaving him in the Trader Joe's parking lot.
The girl didn't mean to front. It was just that, she was so used to being the love of the little boy's life. The first person he ran to when he bumped his head. The one he kissed sweetly every morning.
It was hard for her to get used to being the "other" parent... *
And so? She threw herself in front of the Metro bus. The end.
*OH GOD. Can it be? I have become the "OTHER" parent. BUT I'M YOUR MOMMY!
It wasn't supposed to happen like this!
1. I retired my favorite shoes for you! (So much for "spiked heel joint," right? Because I cannot carry you around in heels. It hurts.)
2. I've resorted to eating your regurgitated Cheerios! (Because usually there is no other place to put them besides my mouth.)
3. I tore my Vagoogoogledotcom! FOR YOU! (And that thing itches like a mo-fo until it heals, man.) And now it's all about the daddy? The let's-go-swimming-in-the-dog-water-bowl daddy?
Fine then. I see how it is. Traitor.