It’s pretty much a guarantee that if you know me in real life via family or friendship, work or neighborhood, I’m going to one day hurt your feelings. It’s probably best you don’t read me.
I don’t do it on purpose.
I can’t help myself. I’ve got a quit wit that can be a wee bit acidic. And my edit button, it’s a wee bit slow. Heck. It’s incredibly retarded. Maybe I have tourettes. I am not sure. I have never spent enough time with a therapist to make such a diagnosis.
I’ll be 50 in 2009. I finally accept the fact that I was born feisty. I’m not one of those people who are all sweetness and light. Which is kind of ironic, if you realize that almost every one of my best friends is pretty much sweetness and light yet willing to accept my loud sarcasm and cynicism. Those crazy sweetness & light people. I sure do love them.
I used to think I was broken, being born into a family with a mother who just doesn’t like me so much. Heck, were I to have a kid who was as defiant as I was, I’d have a hard time getting along with him or her myself.
Were I the type of mother who took such things personally.
Having a child who is a Mr. Funny Pants himself, it’s a darned good thing I don’t take his personality personally. Afterall, alot of that Mr. Funny Pants’ attitude is my own darn fault.
So. There you go. Read at your own risk.
