Hey guys. My mom's been talking some smack about me and I think it's my turn to get my 2 cents in. First, the stroller. She's raging on and on about how I snuck some lipstick and she couldn't see me because I was in the stroller. Well, I didn't even want to be in the stroller. She put some stupid belt around my waist and buckled it, and I had to attempt a jail-style prison break. I really did! I even managed to get one whole arm free, but a leg got stuck in the loop instead. Hey, I'm short; it happens. It's not my fault she made me sit in that thing.
And let's talk about that stroller. I did not want that stroller. We went to the baby store for one and I found the stroller OF MY DREAMS. It was HOT pink and had Dora the Explorer all over it. It was beautiful. She found this piece of crap.
Look at it...it's HUGE. I mean, she can strap my 7 year old brother into it, too. And no trace of Dora anywhere. Dumb, huh? I told her not to buy it. I said no, I grabbed at the Dora stroller, I hollered and pointed, I tried to climb the display rack. What part of me throwing myself on the floor screaming doesn't this chick get? The Dora stroller didn't even have a canopy on top, so she totally would have seen me getting her lipstick if she'd only bought the right stroller. Not. My. Fault.
And the lipstick? Pink. Pink is MY favorite color. Hers is orange. If she buys pink things, I naturally assume they are for me. What, does she want me to ask nicely? Um, please is for candy. Period.
And what grown woman takes a toddler shopping? For UNDERWEAR? There is nothing shiny in that store, there was not one puppy for me to look at. No one offered me a lollipop or a book to read or anything. The last thing I want to do on a perfectly good Monday afternoon is look at old women's knees while they buy black pieces of string sewn together that they call underwear. People, I know underwear. I have underwear. This is what underwear looks like:
That junk was NOT underwear. And to top it all off, Brainy Smurf over here gave me chocolate ice cream. Um, I'm one. You may as well hand me a 6 pack of Red Bull and a White Cross. Of COURSE I needed an apple. She gave me mall lunch and then ice cream. Duh. Apples make my teeth strong and make me poop in one big turd instead of that goo she's always bitching about. Woman, I suggest you start picking your battles better.
And thank you, blog readers. for hearing my side, too. We all know you just come here to look at sweet pictures of my beautiful face anyway.