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It was 5 minutes too late in the morning. I’d just finished scraping the last bits of overcooked pasta into his lunchbox when Nibbles started his usual. “It’s got bumps! I can’t wear them. I hate socks”.

I growled. I hissed. I stung incessantly. There was arm yanking and sock throwing (all me), smattered with unkindness and threats. I was all, “There’s no way your post-dawn idiosyncrasies are going to screw up my perfect attendance record”. Eventually, between the full-bodied sobs and tear-gulping, I heard it, “You destroyed my feelings mamma”.

Seriously. Why is it that the most important role comes with the least accountability? I suck so bad, I best be used to plunge the toilet where my self-centered crap belongs.

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