I hate you because you refuse to consider that maybe, just maybe, you could try taking some responsibility for yourself, stepping outside the bare minimum that has to be done to get along.
I hate you because you’d sooner see your kid stay at home, crying, scrubbing chubby fists at her swollen eyes than step up to the plate when she needs you.
I hate you because when I ask a final time if you’re coming with us, you smugly refuse, preferring to score sordid, childish points than have your kid see the doctor.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Right on the money
Trauma Queen, Kal, hits it right on the nose.