Mommies don’t get sick days.
I think that’s the hardest part of the whole thing. No matter how sick/tired/crazy you are, there’s still some kids who need their asses wiped and whatnot.
I’m so sick all I can do is lay in bed and cry because I need help so, so, so badly today and Mister left for work at 6:30 am, and so here I am with Girlfriend who NEVER. STOPS. TALKING. and Homeslice who makes endless suicide attempts and then falls down and cries.
AND THEN I get to go to work for 8 hours after suffering through the day with the kids.
Plus it’s 92 degrees today, humid as a motherfucker, and we have no air conditioning.
I so don’t want to be me today.
WHO WANTS TO TRADE?
What’s your sad story today, Queefies? Come to Crissy’s pity party, but after the bitching and the whining, I want you to tell me how you’re lucky.
When I feel really crappy and I’m feasting on triple chocolate misery cake, I like to tell myself how lucky I am I’m not a woman who has to live in fear of soldiers busting in and gang raping me and then driving a bayonet through Homeslice. I’m lucky that I have a job to go to. I’m lucky that Girlfriend is smart and has lots to say. I’m lucky that I have 7 air conditioners that we choose not to use.
I’m lucky I have all the Queefies to talk to.