Bitch Better Stay Away From My Baby

Spring is in the air which means the resurgence of green grass, tulips and the chubby girl down the street.  It’s not nice to call a little girl chubby, but it’s better than many of the other words rolling around in my head, such as the acronym for “See You Next Tuesday!”

I hope I don’t see her next Tuesday or any other day that ends in “y” for that matter.  She is annoying, bossy, not-so-cute, and my 5 year old adores her.  He is puddy in her chubby little hands.  I’ve learned to keep the back door locked because even if I tell her that Ben cannot play, she will enter when the coast is clear and start rifling through my pantry like a raccoon.  Then she’ll find a cozy spot next to my  boy and continue with her brainwashing until I make her leave.  “Okay, I’w weev, but whewe should I put this stem fwum this dewicious owganic apple that you just bowt at Whole Paycheck?”  She always eats my over-priced, organic apples!

The worst part is that her absence is brief.  It’s like she can sense when we step outside.  I can’t even tell you the number of times I’ve seen her dough-girl image in my car’s back-up camera, just standing at the end of the driveway like she doesn’t understand that the white lights mean she is about to be run over.  It’s like something out of a Stephen King novel.

This relationship needs to end.  I cannot handle the thought of this young courtship blossoming into a marriage where her scrunchie-wearing Mom gives a heartfelt speech about how she knew it was meant to be when they were just 2 years old.  Why doesn’t he like the shy, cute neighbor girl next door?  She’s not bossy.  And I bet she likes conventional apples.

 

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