Penguin Panties

Last Wednesday, I ended up pants-less in front of the man delivering our chinese food. I'd like to tell you about that today...


There are times in a mother's life when she hates her child. Oh, I know, there's a bunch of you ready to put my head on a pike. Well get your knickers out of your ass and listen to me for a second: You're an idiot. Shut up. When you're kid does something intensely idiotic, it's okay to hate your child. You don't tell them you hate them, because that riles up the Child Protective Service people, and it makes the neighbors call the cops, and it makes for weird holidays. But for a moment in time, you HATE your child. 


 Wednesday was that day. 




 All I wanted was my crab rangoon. Is that so much to ask for? No, I don't think so. In fact, I think it's a pretty simple request. So I did what every self respecting citizen does when they want Chinese food: I called Happy Wok, because Happy Wok make you happy! 
 Yes, they've actually told me that. I laughed so loud, I had to hang up and call back.


 We'd already had a moment where the offspring decided I was an idiot, and repeatedly told me she wanted Chinese food when I asked her what she wanted to eat from Happy Wok, so I should have assumed that something was going to happen. It always does. Child-hating moments do not just pop up out of nowhere. EVER. 


 The poor delivery man... I feel so bad for him. I answered the door in my super hot(aka that is a complete LIE) yoga pants and a t shirt, with no makeup on, my hair in a ponytail... To be honest, I wasn't even wearing a bra, I don't think, since I had just woken up for work that night. That man had no idea the hell he was entering when he began his delivery...


Bless his heart, he didn't even bat an eye. He just kept his professional grin on his face, handed me the slip to sign, and the food. I hand the food off to B, because she's 6 years old and full of crazy ass energy that needs to be beat out of her. And wouldn't you know it....


 I'm signing the receipt, writing in a decent tip, because let's face it- that man just came face to face with what I wake up to every single day. I should have paid for him to see a shrink...

 And B, in all of her fantastical wisdom, decides to start yanking on my pants. MY FUCKING STRETCHY PANTS! Just as I get the words, "Quit pulling on my pants! Are you out of your ever-loving MIND?" the inevitable happened. And I died more than a little bit inside...


She yanked my pants down, in front of God and everyone, and I am pretty sure I seriously contemplated murdering her for about 25 seconds. The delivery guy is staring at me, tears in his eyes, he's trying not to laugh so hard. B's staring at me, tears in her eyes, because she knows her life is about to end, and I'm standing in the hallway with my pants around my ankles, mortified... And I hear myself say, "Thank you, sir, have a fabulous night." And at that point, in for a penny, in for a pound. So I left them down, and shuffled back into the apartment. Aww, hell... I looked like an ass anyway. 


 He'd already seen my Christmas penguin underpants. Why prolong the agony by bending over to pull my pants up and possibly risk B throwing my shirt over my head so I flash my boobies, too? 


 In that moment, I HATED my child.


 But two seconds later, we were inside, leaning against the door, laughing like idiots. Ahhh, the joys of Bipolar disorder. :) 


Oh, how could this get any worse? Oh, well, this morning I stopped for gas at the station by my house. As I walk in, this guy holds the door, so I thank him and I don't pay him much attention. Look, I thanked you, which is the appropriate amount of gratitude for this kind of action.


 Suddenly, I hear, "Hey, penguin panties. Nice." I'm just really thankful that I'm actually fairly pretty, when I'm not in my pajamas, makeup-less with crazy hair going on... And if anyone asks, no, I have no idea where his body is. Don't EVER fuck with the girl wearing penguin panties. OBVIOUSLY, she has no shame. Or compunctions about killing you for reminding her of the single worst day of her adult life in public. Dumbass. 


I still might kill my kid. Really.