(no subject)
I live in an apartment complex, and the building that I live is really tight knit. We bring each other food all the time, we hang out, we babysit each other's kids... or rather, The Kid.
Now, The Kid (as she is called -- aliases include Spoiled Brat and Birth Control, among others) is the only kid in our building. Or, rather, the only one we really care about, because one family's distant and the other has a really snooty mom. We do not like the Snooty Mom, for she bitches about not having her parking space right in front of her door, while the other half of the building has to park far away from the building and then walk all the way around. Must just be her ass is too much luggage. And her dogs are annoying, but that's beside the point.
The point of the matter is: Lately, I've been the one getting sent out to pick up The Kid from day care. The Kid is five, and believes that the entire universe is centered around her tiny little self and her pout. The last time I picked her up, there were very few problems; it was just what she was like when we brought her to our flat that she kept coming into my room, and making it well known that She Was There and that She Wanted Something.
Today, however... That was hell. Truly. Miserable. Hell. First, she wouldn't get into the car. Then she wouldn't put on her seatbelt, which means I spent an upwards of five minutes getting in and out of the driver's seat, opening and closing her door. She'd buckle up, then take it off. And then just laugh like OMGthisissothefunniestthingintheworld!!11!1!. Shoot me. Now. I beg of you. If you have one shred of decency in you you will do as I ask!
*facepalm*
Then I get her home, and she wants cream soda. I tell her she can't have any more sugar or caffeine, because she's hyper enough as it is; that, and her teacher sent a note home about her not behaving or cleaning up after herself. So it's between milk and water. I go to fix her a glass of water, and what does she do? Throws herself onto the floor and starts crying. CRYING. OVER A GLASS OF FUCKING CREAM SODA. By this point? Not so much with the patience, more with the tic going off in my forehead as I'm thinking, "Urge to kill... rising..." But I'm not the Black Mage. But, then again, I'm not the White Mage, either. But I did almost get hit on by some greasy git who reminded me of Jay of the infamous Jay and Silent Bob. (Personally? Silent Bob's more my type.)
So anyway. She's crying, throwing a fit, and what does my mom do? She just gives in. She doesn't give her cream soda, but she does give her hot chocolate. The last thing that girl NEEDS is chocolate. And my mom gives it to her. So I told my mom that I'm not going to have kids if she's going to spoil them the same way, and usurp my authority.
I'm just surprised the brat hasn't wandered into my room. Which if she does? She'll wind up seeing me watching 24. Yeah, how's that for something to fuck up the kid's head, eh?
Now, The Kid (as she is called -- aliases include Spoiled Brat and Birth Control, among others) is the only kid in our building. Or, rather, the only one we really care about, because one family's distant and the other has a really snooty mom. We do not like the Snooty Mom, for she bitches about not having her parking space right in front of her door, while the other half of the building has to park far away from the building and then walk all the way around. Must just be her ass is too much luggage. And her dogs are annoying, but that's beside the point.
The point of the matter is: Lately, I've been the one getting sent out to pick up The Kid from day care. The Kid is five, and believes that the entire universe is centered around her tiny little self and her pout. The last time I picked her up, there were very few problems; it was just what she was like when we brought her to our flat that she kept coming into my room, and making it well known that She Was There and that She Wanted Something.
Today, however... That was hell. Truly. Miserable. Hell. First, she wouldn't get into the car. Then she wouldn't put on her seatbelt, which means I spent an upwards of five minutes getting in and out of the driver's seat, opening and closing her door. She'd buckle up, then take it off. And then just laugh like OMGthisissothefunniestthingintheworld!!11!1!. Shoot me. Now. I beg of you. If you have one shred of decency in you you will do as I ask!
*facepalm*
Then I get her home, and she wants cream soda. I tell her she can't have any more sugar or caffeine, because she's hyper enough as it is; that, and her teacher sent a note home about her not behaving or cleaning up after herself. So it's between milk and water. I go to fix her a glass of water, and what does she do? Throws herself onto the floor and starts crying. CRYING. OVER A GLASS OF FUCKING CREAM SODA. By this point? Not so much with the patience, more with the tic going off in my forehead as I'm thinking, "Urge to kill... rising..." But I'm not the Black Mage. But, then again, I'm not the White Mage, either. But I did almost get hit on by some greasy git who reminded me of Jay of the infamous Jay and Silent Bob. (Personally? Silent Bob's more my type.)
So anyway. She's crying, throwing a fit, and what does my mom do? She just gives in. She doesn't give her cream soda, but she does give her hot chocolate. The last thing that girl NEEDS is chocolate. And my mom gives it to her. So I told my mom that I'm not going to have kids if she's going to spoil them the same way, and usurp my authority.
I'm just surprised the brat hasn't wandered into my room. Which if she does? She'll wind up seeing me watching 24. Yeah, how's that for something to fuck up the kid's head, eh?