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I like to write about whatever comes to my mind. Whether that is visiting an abandoned house, or reading a good book, I like to talk. So, chat with me here about what you like! And welcome.

How I Feel About You, Not Your Child

How I Feel About You, Not Your Child

Yesterday started out with someone else's child drooling muffin all over me while using my dress and body as their own personal foot stool. This was on the bus mind you, where they allow all kinds. The child's mom, who was watching her do all of these amazing things (and probably thinking it was adorable), did nothing. She just had the vaguest interest in her kid, like *glances over*, yeah don't k? 

Now I get it. Being a parent is hard, sometimes you want to tell your child to eff off and go somewhere else (I know I do), but you are on public transportation, DEAL WITH THE THING. Or, don't take your child out of her perfectly useful giant stroller that blocks the entire aisle and have her take up a seat on the bus. She is already sitting. Nice and contained in her rotten food trap.

What I did: Attempted to move over and pull my dress in more, while trying not to offend the offender. Gave up reading my book, which was perfectly pleasant up to that point. Instead I had to concentrate really hard on arranging my face so that it did not show my rage. Which is REALLY hard for me.

What I wanted to do: I wanted to turn to the mother and tell her that if her child put her shoes on me one more time, or kicked me again, I was going to throw one of them out the window. Feel free to sacrifice yourself lady, but judging by your lack of fucks towards your child, you'd probably offer her up. I'm sorry, you do not get a free pass because you are a parent and you are tired and hate your life. I'm tired, and now I hate my life too, because of you. Just like everyone else here, I am on my way to work, in a dress, and I have to look presentable (kind of ). Not like I just had a mini demon use my body as a treadmill.

My feelings exactly, dog-wolf.

Well. Glad I got that off my chest. Was I overreacting? Maybe. Nothing happened of course, because I kept it all in and she went on her merry clueless way, but did I let it get to me too much? Sure. Do I care? No.

How would you have handled it?

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