This is me:
Except I don't want soft pretzels. I want the feast on the warm steaming blood of those who have wronged me. And some cheese fries.
But I didn't yell at any small children this morning, nor was I harsh with them. I was, perhaps, stricter than usual, but gently, and that can be forgiven.
I didn't get upset with the kids in the choir. I didn't fuss at them. I let them sing the song they did on Sunday one last time, with the silly words they made up for it. I may have used the teacher glare, but I didn't snap at any of them.
I did not demand unprofessional hugs from handsome men.
I was lovely and gracious and professional and shit ALL FUCKING DAY.
Asshole decides that the perfect time to inform me of something that should be a joint decision, and one that I can't make without all the facts which I will never get from him, is while dropping Megabyte off after his basketball game and I am standing outside FREEZING, waiting for him to finish showing Kilobyte some dumbass video on his phone, something that could be done this weekend when he has the Nanobots, but no, he has to make me wait in the cold for ten minutes while the stupid video loads, and THEN he wants to talk to me about fucking INSURANCE? REALLY? You haven't paid a single cent in child support, but you're going to pay a hundred bucks a week to get the Bots on your insurance, which I guarantee will have a higher copay and less coverage than the medicaid we currently qualify for? And you expect me to be all sunshine and rainbows to you? Just so we're clear: