Anyway, spent vast sums of money and may still have to sell Crystal Meth on the side to pay for the rest.
I said may.
Back to the shopping. What should have been a bonding between mother and son and a reminiscing about melancholy moments, passing time and future expectations, ended up resembling something like this...more, more, more, more, more, more, more, more, more, more, more, more, more, more, more, WHAT ELSE CAN YOU GIVE ME MOTHER?! I WANT MORE, MORE, WAAAAYYYY MORE~THIS ISN'T NEARLY ENOUGH!
Soooooo...Heartwarming. (benevolent smile)
Then it occurred to me that my dear, sweet man-child has become...gasp...ENTITLED! Which is not only a curse word in my home, but actually on a par with THEE MOTHER OF ALL CURSE-WORDS! I've had to wash mouths out with soap for lesser offenses. (On a side note, I just hung up on my second son who is standing out in front of my house right now, and called on his cell phone to tell me he needs me to drive him to a house a BLOCK AWAY, PEOPLE. Not even shi**ing.)
(Fill in the ** with your choice of double letters...like ZZ or DD...just want you to feel a part of my posts.)
Well, I took the mollycoddled bull by the horns and decided to finish up without him and then, adding insult to injury, I'm going to wrap all of his stuff~white shirts, ties, socks, umbrella, winter hat, travel alarm clock, sewing kit~all of the absolutely no fun to receive for Christmas necessities~and give them as his CHRISTMAS PRESENTS. *Maniacal laughter!
That's right. Along with all those necessities, the boy is getting the shaft as well. Builds character~and ends entitlement. Two birds, one stone.
So what was the point of all this? I'll get to that now.
I was wrapping his gifts today, just up in my sewing room with bags and tape and ribbon and paper scattered all around me, and was enjoying the Christmas journey, when suddenly WATER STARTS SQUIRTING OUT OF MY EYES, PEOPLE! Like somebody threw an entire bucket...of tears and snot and mascara ALL over my face and walked away. No warning, no comfort, just a blast of wrenching emotion to the heart.
And THAT is what I have to look forward to for the next couple of months while my spoiled brat baby boy prepares to fly.
And I just do not know if I can be a part of this.
"CUT!" I shout. Exit stage left.
Now where is my stunt double?