No Deal!

Compromise? What kind of a compromise was that!?! All I got out of the deal was some dirty nachos from a non-Mexican restaurant and a guilt trip about making you endanger your child by settling the little Bean down in a radio flyer behind a moped—a radio flyer you know you have no chance of getting her to stay in without a five-point harness.

And, I do feel bad. I mean, I should have known when I knocked on your office door this morning and you didn’t answer that I shouldn’t have opened the door. I did though, and when I saw what a sad sight you were sitting in your chair hurling your intestines into your trash can, I really did feel a little guilty that I’ve been razzing you so much.

But, friend, if we’re going to compromise, we’re going to compromise. I can’t let you ruin my entire life for 9 straight months. And in that, I will be taking up on the one reasonable compromise you came up with--Coyote Ugly-ing this evening. As you know, it’s a work night out, and you, sillily agreed to attend days ago. An invitation you know I will not, under any circumstances, allow your pregnant arse to rescind. And, with the blogosphere as my witness, you offered to dance on a bar—a feat you will succeed in this very evening. Bwahahahahahaha! I get to pick the exact time—and you best know I will wait until the boss arrives! Hehe!

It’s not my fault you spent your disposable income on your child, of all things! Psh. A turtle sandbox? Please, just put her in that box your furnace came in and dump a bag of sand in. It will work just the same and momma will save that money and use it to NOT go binge drinking with Auntie Jamie. Save up, momma, cus you got a hell of a lot of catching up to do!

Also, E is correct—nails and massages are a must. Your treat? Great! Thanks!