I hate your baby red dinosaur. Truly hate. I hate his tiny, adorable yellow tummy. And his goofy smile, and his dumb yellow spikes. I particularly hate that you like this stupid, cheap, plastic, China-made goodybag filler piece of crap more than the sweet handmade toys I picked out painstakingly before you were born. Tell me, what the hell is wrong with that adorable sweater owl, all recycled and retro colors? How about your cute patchwork hedgehog? No?
No. You want your little plastic baby red dinosaur, who gets lost in the middle of the night, wedged between the crib rails and the wall. Whose absence makes you cry in despair when you lose your grip on him during what I can only hope was a particularly baby-red-dinosaur-free part of your dreams. I hate that even though baby red dinosaur makes frequent escape attempts, breaking your heart every time, you keep begging for him to come back to you. At 5:30 am. Waking up the entire house. Heaving with sobs.
He's just going to hurt you, sweetie. Let him go.
No comments:
Post a Comment