image via. counterfeit chic
Dear Screaming Child In The Grocery Store,
I see you. All red faced and yelling so loudly that your voice is getting hoarse. You’re trying to cry and yet no tears are coming out. I feel you dude.
Sure, I kind of want to smack you in the bum. Not a hard smack, just a tap to snap you out of it. Partly because I’m jealous that my tantrums are no longer about obtaining a single jelly bean and partly because now I can’t focus. I just came in for some arugula and cherry tomatoes and now my flow is ruined. Add to that, I’m forced to follow you and your mother around to watch this charade.
But. It’s not your fault. What I’d really like to do is throw a shopping bag over your mom’s head and then usher her into a white van. From there I’d interrogate her on her parenting style. Then would come the water boarding.
No, just kidding.
I’d hit her where it really hurts. I’d take her Vuitton bag and fill it with cat poop and pee. From then on she’d never have a positive association with the brand, it will be all Coach from there on out. She would also think twice about how she handles her child rearing.
You’ll thank me. Not when you’re a teen and you can’t get and/or do what you want. At that point you’ll hate us both. Actually you’ll probably never thank me. You’ll think I’m a bitch and that’s ok by me.
Maybe one day you’ll reflect, oh say when you’re about 35, and you see people whispering behind Chad’s back- “I just don’t know he’s very handsome and smart but what a douche,” and you’ll say, “gee I’m glad I’m not like that”.