Telling me that you’re divorced but neglecting to mention the girlfriend you just adopted a puppy with over Christmas is not going to get you a first date… with me anyway.
Mommy: Where’s your backpack?
Little: In the car, mommy.
Mommy: You sure?
Little: Yes, mommy.
10 minutes later, as we’re pulling into the school drop off…
Little: Mommy, where’s my backpack?
Thanksgiving has never been one of my favorite holidays. I love to eat, so I’ve always enjoyed the food but I think it’s barbaric to celebrate mass genocide.
Anyway, I received an invitation for thanksgiving dinner from my sister that I haven’t talked to in over a year that went something like this…
“Hey look I know we have our differences and have both said horrible things to each other so that being said. I think we should forgive and forget for our parents sake at thanksgiving so here is your formal invite.”
Unfortunately her memory of what she and I both said in our last conversation has eluded her. Luckily I saved the texts so that I wouldn’t forget that she not only justified my sexual assault at 16 as something that “all woman go through” and that only open-minded people like trump can “grab her pussy”.
Oh, and “Don’t come crawling when you need something because this is one sister that won’t be there.”
I was called a bigoted bitch because I wouldn’t tolerate her support for a bigoted, racist, narcissist who brags about sexually assaulting women.
I’ll never understand women who voted for trump.
And I’ll never forgive them.
These women set back equality a hundred years and spit all over Alice Paul’s grave.
So, I’m not sorry but I’m definitely not interested in having dinner at my sister’s. Check your texts sister, you were the only one name calling and victim blaming. Not me. I owe you no apology.
When I was young I wanted desperately to be popular.
Now that I’m older, I want desperately to be left alone.
The Little recently discovered Beyonce. She has added her own twist on one of the songs.
Little (singing and dancing): If you liked it, you should’ve put a bunny on it.
Little: Mommy! Mommy! The bunny’s a taco!
I look over to see the bunny with a piece of lettuce on his head.
Little: Wow, mommy. You have a lot of cookbooks!
Me: Yes, I collect them.
Little: But why? You don’t cook.