I ate cold pancakes.
I volunteered for “Breakfast With Santa”.
I had no idea what exactly that entailed
Perhaps I’d cut up pancakes.
Squirt some ketchup on eggs.
Clean up inevitable spills.
But mostly, I figured that it would be a nice social adventure. You know, meeting Chunky’s friends and connecting with other Moms.
I’m dreaming of a Christmas fucking no.
I have never seen so many children in one place…
Aside from Duggar’s vagina…
I’ve never seen the inside of her vagina…
But I’m sure that its walls are decked with the same shitty hand painted artwork…
All those bodies.
Who the fuck gave you bingo dabbers?
No don’t eat the poinsettia.
Why are you under the table?
Put your dress down.
No, I don’t want to see your princess underwear.
Don’t wipe your booger on the chair get a tissue.
Not on your coat.
Now go wash your God damned hands before you desecrate baby Jesus in that manger with your booger fingers.
Did you just lick that orange and put it back in the cornucopia?
I know the basket isn’t made of fucking corn. It’s called cornuco-find-your-Mom.
Sausages are not markers.
I’m pretty sure that putting your scrambled eggs in your juice will taste like a lumpy asshole.
No, you clean that shit up.
That was just in the first 20 minutes.
Where were the teachers you ask?
Having a grand old time in a table way over in the corner.
I was thinking of running over there and punching Chunky’s teacher in the festive Christmas vest but I like her.
And she deals with this every day.
I’m buying her booze for Christmas.
After a while I just gave up and plopped next to a Mom of triplets.
“Want some pancakes?” she asked and pushed a plate towards me.
We both laughed as we choked down some cold soggy pancakes that we had no idea where they came from.
And you know what?
I’d probably do it again.
Because this face?
So worth it.