I hate to tell you, but I am not your little boy anymore. In fact, just yesterday I got out of bed and made myself bacon in the toaster. I know you don't like to be woken up before 11 so I took matters into my own hands. If that doesn't scream "I'm a grow-up now," I don't know what does! (ps. sorry that the fire truck woke you up prematurely. I'm not too familiar with outlets.)
Oh, and by the way, I have officially decided to change my name to Gunner MacGyver Optimus Spongebob MileyGaGa Smith, but you can just call me Tinkerbell for short. "Tink" for short short.
I'm a very precocious child. I love learning and bugs and chicken nuggets and licking all your makeup brushes and lots of creepy crawlers, so when you said "hey Gunner, want to watch a movie about spiders?" I excitedly responded with "yes!" thinking we were in for some super awesome version of Charlotte's Web. Except what proceeded to happen was you put on that super scary "Arachnophobia" movie, and now I have nightmares, every single night, that Obama is my real daddy and he makes me give my toys away to the brat next door, who does nothing but sit on his ass all day and wait for the ice cream truck, and yes I realize this nightmare has nothing to do with spiders and more to do with snakes, but still. Scary is scary and that sh*t is scary!
I know mom that you want me to be what you call "fashion forward." I'm sorry for the big fight we got into on my first day of school, when you wanted me to wear those off-pink jeggings and I kicked and screamed and in the process accidentally deleted some of your iphone apps.
I understand your frustration that maybe some of the other mommy bloggers won't think you are as cool as them but for the love of all things double stuffed (like oreos and when that one girl at my school comes looking extra "lady lumptious"), what the f*ck are you trying to do to me? And the hell with that fedora? I'm five years old mom, let me wear disney characters and mud flap girl tshirts.
Last but not least, next time you think it's "convenient" to put vodka in my sippy cup for your own personal use so it doesn't spill all over your ugly designer bag (seriously, dad should have splurged on new extensions for you instead), maybe you should cover the cartoon characters up with big black pirate skulls and maybe slap on a few green Mr. Yuk stickers so when I think it's water and take a huge chug when I'm parched, I don't almost die from choking and my lungs don't cave in from your complete neglect.
that was pretty good.
Can I have some more?