You’re Kinda Funny When You Say Words

Today was the first full day of my new job. OMFG. I am sore. I am exhausted. I am contemplating the futility of my existence and all existence ever. I’m so old and my bones are so heavy and painful.
When I got home from work John Henry was asleep and my family was all “don’t forget about his basketball practice tonight.” Fuck. That.
Then John Henry woke up. He didn’t want to go to practice. I’ve done that “never give up” parenting when it comes to sports only to be the one to give up first(because I am stubborn but my child is younger, stronger, smarter, and I am at a place where I can admit those are all true things). I decided that staying home and not having to deal with a roomful of strangers and their strange children sounded totally tits to me. Do I mind that I paid 20 bucks for John Henry to decide he doesn’t like basketball practice? Not really. He will find his sport, if he has one. Plus, I hate sports with balls. They can suck it.
So then I was trying to tell John Henry about my day at work and he was all “I don’t want to hear this. It’s not good.”
That’s hurtful. And familiar.
I responded “don’t you wanna hear all about my new job and what I did at work today?!?”
He said “I don’t think so. I think it’s gonna make me bored.”
It was like talking to myself. A little tiny less awesome version of me. This is where I should have a rude awakening or an epiphany about the way I treat boring people and their lame stories but it didn’t happen. Because John Henry is wrong. My work story is fucking awesome and I am gonna tell someone all about it and it is going to be amazing. And whomever I tell is prolly going to thank me. You’re welcome beautiful, kind, and grateful listener. Best story ever, amiright?
I mean John Henry is a five year old. He doesn’t know shit about dick. I’m not worried about whether or not some rude kid thinks I’m boring. He’s not even my demographic. So. Whatever. You’re boring John Henry. Everybody says so.

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