Yes, as a matter of fact, my son and I are wearing pajamas. What, there's a dress code for shopping at Target now?
No, I will not let you into my lane after waiting in traffic for my turn to the offramp for 20 minutes, while you pull stealthily up to the beginning of the line, acting all, like, What's the problem? The problem is, douchebag, that you've been talking on the phone instead of paying attention to the road, and I, for one, will not condone that kind of irresponsibility. But thanks for asking.
Yes, I would like my receipt with that. As a lovely (read: irritating) reminder of just how much freakin' money you're making off my underemployed ass.
No, you may not have chocolate for breakfast. Because it's not appropriate for a morning meal. I know I'm eating some right now. When you're a pregnant single mother of two, you can have chocolate first thing in the morning, too. No, you may not get pregnant. Because I said so.
Yes, I would like to cancel my subscription to your paper. Because I get enough cranky sanctimony from my kids at home, thank you very little.
No, I don't want to participate in a survey today. Or tomorrow. I appreciate that my opinion is very important to you. Just for the record, my opinion is that you should stop fucking calling me.
Yes, I am going to use the Priority Boarding lane. I pushed two babies out my hoohaw, that's why. What have you done lately?
No, I will not help you write your paper. Because I pay the utilities so you can have light by which to write your paper. Isn't that enough?
Yes, they're real. All it takes is some sperm, a good uterine blend, and you can have knockers like this, too!
No, you can't have my number. I don't like your shoes, that's why.
Yes, they're mine. At least that's what they tell me every morning when I ask where they came from.
No, you can't get inside my head. Too many people in there already.
No comments:
Post a Comment