It’s Friday and you have been cluttering feeds with your (pay)day off shenanigans. I swear you never work.
Not only have you bought yourself a brand new outfit, head to toe. Marveled at the thirty seven colours you chose to ask your hair colourist for (seriously, do you come up in that salon every time and ask for their tropical bird special?), that you so masterfully chose to style into Little Bo Peep curls, you know, because you’re 12. You got your nails did. Then you went back out to shop some more for clothes that look like my entire fucking closet. This is some single white female shit, Heifer. Though don’t they say something like imitation is the highest form of flattery? Gross. I dress for my shape and size, while you’re looking like a fun house mirror.
Oh yeah, WHO’S WATCHING YOUR FUCKING KIDS!? They’ve been out of school for nearly two hours, on your fucking day off, while you’re SHOPPING! Mother of the year. Here’s a gold star for yet another reason why I hate knowing I breathe the same air as you.
Maybe on your way home you’ll buy your children some art supplies, come home and read them a book (beyond kindergarten level), cook them a delicious meal, and ask them how their day went?
And then I woke up.
Never have I wanted to cunt punt someone more. With steel toe boots. Followed by a Lysol sesh – I heard you don’t smell any better than your piss palace.