Hey Morning Driver of Short Bus,
Ten minutes to eight. That is the time you are supposed to pick Owen up. To then pick up two more children and get him to his school which is almost an hour away by 9:05.
Ten minutes to eight is sort of cutting it close, no?
Ten minutes past eight is fucking impossible. So I asked you;
"How do you pick up two more kids and get to school on time?"
"Oh. We don't get there on time. We're late every day."
Yeah. 'Cause being Deaf, he's already so far ahead of the game he can just miss those precious minutes of school.
I did some poking around, and discovered that you're getting off on a technicality; the bus line is so long that the fact that you show up last goes unnoticed. And Owen isn't missing any class time.
But fuck you anyway, for being so nonchalant about not getting my kid to school on time.
And for not getting fucking dressed to do your job. The kids are Deaf, not Blind. They can see the Tweety Bird jammie pants and fuzzy slippers.
And? Even though you got a free pass on the late thing, I don't think I'm gonna let the fact that you flew into my driveway the other morning yapping on your cell phone, and continued to yap away as I got Owen buckled in.
Not. Fucking. Cool.
In order to kill a couple hours of a rainy afternoon, I suggested Bea and friend Mya watch a movie.
“Ok! Surprise us!”
They sat on the couch hands over eyes vibrating with giddy anticipation as I put Horton Hears a Who! in the DVD player.
When they heard it start up they uncovered their eyes and Bea squealed;
“Yes! I LOVE Horny In the Hoo!"
Preaching to the choir sister.
A professional photographer took the girls' photos at preschool and we were able to look at the proofs online.
Bea's were cute.
Mya? She's gorgeous.
When Owen saw Mya's pictures he transformed into a cartoon version of himself with his tongue hanging to the floor and puffy throbbing hearts shooting out of his eyes.
Hopes for gay son officially dashed.
As we perused the kids' pictures, I definitely did not point out an unfortunate
That would be a terrible thing to do.
And Owen didn't hesitate before answering;
And I'd never press the issue and ask,
“Really? You think she's pretty?”
And children are rarely honest about such things, so he didn't reply,
“No. Not pretty.”
I got blasted on Twatter once for talking about ugly children:
Whenever I am surrounded by a large group of children, I am always amazed by how many ugly ones there are out there.
(Apparently there is a way to get the actual Tweet to appear here, but I'm not
The retweet, which I'm not posting because I think some of you know her, was along the lines of,
"No child is ugly."
Ummmm... how do you think ugly people start out?
Yep. As ugly children.
A couple Twats went on to discuss what an awful human I am for calling a child ugly.
Yeah, because I marched right up to the troll and said to its face;
"Man! You're about as ugly as a barrel of smashed assholes!"
Yeah. I did THAT.
I didn't post a stupid Tweet that about 12 people saw (and many of you sickos Retweeted, what is wrong with you?).
It is a good thing that Owen is beautiful and covered in sexy scars which are sure to score him all sorts of tail, because Deaf kid won't be wooing the ladies with his singing voice,
I had half a mind to drag a fork across a plate as accompaniment.