I was helping out at children’s church on Sunday, because I am wholesome and good and naturally inclined to do God’s will (and I have shitty reflexes and forgot to duck under the pew and pretend to fish for something in my purse while they came around looking for volunteers I’M KIDDING.), and Gus started spouting off about this really mean kid who hangs out at the Y.
“He’s a terrible kid,” Gus said. “Really, really a jerk.”
“Huh, really,” I said, slapping some green freckles on my drawing of Goliath.
“Mom,” he said. “This kid said things about YOU.”
“About me? Who is this person?”
“He’s this kid you haven’t met.”
“And what mean things did this person-I-haven’t-met have to say about me?”
“He was like, ‘Your mom? Isn’t even that great.’”
SNAP!
“Those were his actual words?”
“Yes!”
I’m not even “that great”?
Not even that great?
What kind of half-ass, cherry-lemon ghetto insult is that? Clearly this child is lacking male role models, if this is what passes for a yo' mama joke these days.
“Yo mama is so slightly over her ideal weight as indicated by the BMI calculator in Real Simple magazine? She wear a size ten.”
“He’s a terrible kid,” Gus said. “Really, really a jerk.”
“Huh, really,” I said, slapping some green freckles on my drawing of Goliath.
“Mom,” he said. “This kid said things about YOU.”
“About me? Who is this person?”
“He’s this kid you haven’t met.”
“And what mean things did this person-I-haven’t-met have to say about me?”
“He was like, ‘Your mom? Isn’t even that great.’”
SNAP!
“Those were his actual words?”
“Yes!”
I’m not even “that great”?
Not even that great?
What kind of half-ass, cherry-lemon ghetto insult is that? Clearly this child is lacking male role models, if this is what passes for a yo' mama joke these days.
“Yo mama is so slightly over her ideal weight as indicated by the BMI calculator in Real Simple magazine? She wear a size ten.”
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