Keeping my funny side up

I am desperately trying to find something even remotely funny to write about my life right now. The only thing I can think of is how ridiculously big the shit sandwich is that someone has handed me and how little of the ugly concoction I have managed to consume.

When will this gastronomic nightmare end?

I am frantically waving my hand and saying, “I’m done. May I be excused from the table now?” The funny part is that I hear my own voice inside my head saying, “Not until you’ve finished what’s on your plate.” I should know better. My words always end up biting me in the ass.

Boy child has been kicked out of playschool for “aggressive” behaviour. And just like a plague of locusts, a gaggle of judgmental mothers has descended upon us. Feeling used, abused, misunderstood, and treated unkindly by the whole perfectly coifed lot of them.

Let’s see…boy child with major behavioural problems and girl child with major health issue (what, isn’t everyone fed by a tube?), loved by their dyke mama amd mumi. Yeah, definitely don’t fit the white, middle-class hetero mold.

I just want to pick up boy child in my arms and rock him back and forth murmuring, “I’ll love you forever. Always my baby you’ll be.”

Hey, cruel world. You’ve got my attention.