Pop Tarts For Dinner

“You cannot have a Pop Tart for dinner and don’t ask me why!”  Really I don’t know why, it’s got fruit inside with some type of breading substance on the outside, my life would be a lot easier if I could just let her have the Pop Tart for dinner.  I really want to say, “Alright eat the strawberry one, but don’t you touch that chocolate one, cuz I am serving that as dessert tonight!”  But I am a glutton for punishment, I like every family meal to end in a catastrophe so I continue to make them eat good, healthy foods and argue with them.  Every meal at our home ends with crying, screaming and/or vomiting.  Quality time is one concept that I will never understand, you might as well give me some mathematical code from NASA to crack because you would get the same dumb look on my face either way.


June would never feed her kids Pop Tarts for dinner, because the experts say it is wrong.  I wonder who provides the experts with their data, as I would like to invite one of the experts over for dinner with us one evening.  He could sit and watch my daughter push her plate of food away and my husband get frustrated and start yelling and giving ultimatums until she breaks into sobbing and while trying to force down the food, she spits it back into the experts face.  What is the proper response to this type of situation, I seriously would like to know.


But I digress, June would never do that.  June is the perfect woman and mother, her children would never object to the well balanced meals she serves and would eat them with smiles on their perfect faces and speak only when spoken to.  As wonderful as June is, I bet she is a terrible lay, “Don’t wrinkle my linen dress!  Don’t pull at my strand of pearls!  Don’t muss my hair!”  I really hope that June has married a nice homosexual man that has adjusted well to being a husband and really doesn’t want to touch his wife and does so just enough so that he can keep his secret and his job as a men’s sports journalist.  No one is going to through a straight guy out of the men’s locker room.


I have been trying to figure out what it takes to have perfect children and I think I finally have figured it out.  Frigid Bitch Female + Homosexual Male = Perfect Kids!  Wow, I should get some type of mathematical award for that one, and judge me if you will, but think about it for a moment and I bet you are agreeing with me in your head right now.


So I continue to compare myself to the Junes of the world and when I am not feeling inadequate I find the energy to write about it.  This babbling is what keeps me sane and makes me laugh and allows me to entertain you.  It’s really a win, win, win if you think about it; there I go working on math again….



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