January 28, 2013

• The Time John Tried to Kill Me

  

  I am a horrid mother.  I accidentally got jizzified and knocked up and then still didn't have the sense God gave me to consult some sort of parenting manual.  To be fair,  I did receive fair warning of how much of a bitch of a mother I was going to make by someone who should know.  Who knew that the ability to keep Pop-Tarts and skim milk around were indicative of the ability to be a mother?  Apparently even dudes who can't figure out that if a chick won't screw you in her bed and won't even offer you a glass of water (let alone food) she doesn't want you to stick around know about the Pop-Tarts and Skim Milk and mothering correlation.  I should be angry with my mother and my sex-education classes for not teaching me this.  I would have gotten myself sterilized when I was 12.

  I am such a horrible mother, that even 10 month old little John wanted to get rid of me.   He used to have this red truck that he loved.  We were in the kitchen and I pre-heated the oven.  I know it is difficult to believe, it is true, I was going to do something novel like cook something.  I wasn't going to even attempt to make a damn Pop-Tart though, that's for wonderful mothers to make.  My phone rang so I step out of the kitchen, which is completely visible from the living room for you prone to histrionics type, to get the phone.  Apparently, this was the beginning of John's evil, evil, little plan to kill me.  While answering the phone, he coordinated this with my mother by the way, he slipped his little truck into the oven.  I should have known something was up when he happily crawled out of the kitchen.  Since I am a horrible mother, I was thinking, good get out of here you smelly little brat or maybe I thought I would have an easier time cleaning.  You will never know.

  At first, I was like what is that chemical smell.  The response was it is in my head and I agreed that it was probably true.  Then I was like, why are my eyes burning.  The response was that I was allergic to everything.  Sounded fair to me.  Then it was like why is the imagined chemical smell burning my lungs if it is all in my head.  The response was that maybe I was crazy.  That only resulted in lots of cursing and name calling in my head.  Then there was smoke coming through the cracks.  What was going on?  I hadn't even put any food in the oven yet.  I open the door to see the little red fire truck ablaze.  I grab the fire extinguisher and realized I hadn't used one of these things in real life.  I had only used one in health and safety training classes.  Was it like sex or riding a bike?  You kind of don't forget?  I put the blaze out before I die or develop brain tumors from some kind of crap that was supposed to poison my child.  Clever, I think.  Poison me with fumes while you crawl away.  But vengeance would have been mine, if I would have died, the milk bags would have died, too.  Luckily, his plan failed and I am still around to ruin and corrupt him.
   
  I will never get rid of this truck.  It will be an eternal reminder of how horrible of a horrible mother I am.
  

  • 7:09 pm
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