Kid Unleashes Hell at Family Brunch
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Okay, Reddit, brace yourselves. This is one hell of a fuck-my-life, someone-else-please-adopt-my-kid, I-am-so-not-cut-out-for-this kind of late-night existential crisis overshare. You know, the kind where you're not sure if you're gonna laugh, cry, or move to fucking Iceland and become a hermit. Undecided as of yet. God, why am I even typing this?
So, the shitshow that was today started out innocent enough. It was my turn to host the weekly family brunch rendezvous. You know who was invited over? Every-fucking-body. My pompous ass of a boss and his tight-lipped wife (that's a whole other story), my perpetually judgmental mother-in-law and brother-in-law, my senile Gramps who is really sweet but probably shouldn't be allowed out in public anymore, my too perfect to be fucking human sister, and a smattering of different uncles, aunts, and cousins.
Now, don't get me wrong. I love my family. But hosting them all and preparing a brunch that wouldn't send them into an uproar of epic proportions? Well, let's just say I'd rather my balls be crushed by a hydraulic press. But it was my turn and I was ready to put on my grown-ass woman panties and manage this shit flawlessly (read: I was not ready, not even remotely).
The problems started, of course, with my demon spawn. My kid. My lovely, rosy-cheeked, innocent looking six-year-old angel of darkness. Let's call him Damien (no, it's not his real name, but you get my vibe here, right?). The kid decided, in that impeccable sense of timing that only the under 10 demographics seem to have, that brunch would be a great time to display his newfound vocabulary. So, while the adults were gathered outside discussing politics or whatever the hell they pretend they're interested in, Damien was inside teaching my sister's pearl-clutching preteen daughter, a menagerie of curse words pulled straight from the sailor's handbook, interspersed with remarkably accurate impressions of our family members taking a dump.
Now, I haven't the foggiest idea where he picked up this treasure trove of vocabulary. Probably the playground hell or maybe from my secretly filthy-mouthed wife when she's stuck in traffic (who am I kidding, I myself cuss like a sailor with hemorrhoids). But hell, I wasn't ready for what came next.
Damien bursts onto the patio, loud and proud, and announces to the entire family, "Hey, everyone! Wanna know what a trouble truffle is?" And without waiting for any response, he loudly proclaims, "It's a big ol' poop nugget! Like what Uncle Jerry does after he eats too many beans!"
Silence. You could hear a fucking pin drop. Now, Uncle Jerry is my boss. My tight-ass, can't-take-a-joke, I-eat-rare-steaks-and-fire-employees-for-fun boss. And there's my kid, on a glorious Sunday afternoon, associating his bowel movements with the phrase "trouble truffle". If I could have fucking died, I would have.
That was the starting gunshot, apparently. What followed was a running commentary by my darling offspring involving each family member and their imagined bathroom habits. Trust me, I can't even begin to transcribe the horror here.
Did anyone laugh? No. Did I get some form of parental sympathy from the crowd? No. Did I get THE look from my boss? Oh, fuck yes. Not to forget, my mother-in-law’s look of pure, “I knew my daughter could’ve done better.” And remember that sweet senile Gramps? He couldn't stop laughing.
So here I am, 10 beers down, questioning every decision that led me to this point, and venting it out to some random strangers on the internet. Should I confront Damien about his colorful vocab? Should I apologize to Uncle Jerry or just look for a new job already? Should I move my family to the Amish country? Or maybe circus school’s a more realistic curriculum for my mini-me?
“Hey Alexa, how do you explain ‘damage control’ to a six-year-old? Fucking hell, may as well start researching how to talk to your kid about the concept of adoption. Here comes another beer... God, why me?
Fuck it. Night, Reddit.
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