Time Out, Please?

Sssssh. Quiet now. TLW has a hangover.
Geez, guys. It’s been a minute. Sorry about that. I’ve been a bit busy this week staying up too late on school nights, taking a knee and celebrating Seis De Mayo like a true champion.  Anywhoos, today I want to talk about children. Specifically, I want to discuss the children who live in my apartment complex.  I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the motherly kind. I don’t think babies are particularly cute and or fun to be around. The shrieking pierces my ears and makes me want to rip my uterus out.  However, I’ve actually grown much more tolerant toward their antics in my old age of 31 years young.  For example, I don’t immediately glare at their parents when they’re ruining my dinner at a restaurant. I can now wait for at least ten!  When the warm weather headed our way and a gaggle of youths played outside on a fine, spring day I even thought to myself, “Nice. Kids playing outside instead of becoming future contestants on The Biggest Loser.”  That lasted for the first day. Then they were out there the next day.  And the day after that. And then every god damn day that ended in “y”.  For hours.  Now before you get all Judge Judy on my ass, hold on a second. There aren’t that many children where I live. And that’s why I like it. I wouldn’t feel like I could bitch and complain about kids frolicking around if I lived in, let’s say, Twin Hickory or some other super gross place like that.  But I don’t. I live in the Museum District. Again, for a reason.  The children relegate their playtime to the patch of grass located directly behind my window which makes napping impossible (the yelling), relaxing improbable (my dogs barking when they yell) and all around quality of life negative awesome (the yelling and the barking and then more yelling).  I want to find their parents and ask them if they can please turn on the TV and rot their little brains right out of their angel heads, but that would just be mean. Instead I’m doing what I often do and that’s bitch about it here. If you need me, I won’t be at my crib until the first frost forces our most precious resource back inside where they belong. Cheers!

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