If anyone gets happy or clappy anywhere near me for about two weeks, I’m going to snappy.
So after my behavior got Boyd expelled from that
socialist training camp preschool, I felt pretty bad. I mean, my back was really stiff the day after. I may have even pulled a muscle. So I really couldn’t commit to chasing him around the office every day. I like to play with Boyd more like Marlon Brando does with his grandson at the end of The Godfather -- just sit in a chair and have him run around me. Except for the part where Brando, you know, dies.
So I apologized to that guy, and Boyd’s back in the class. That’s the important thing. And don’t get me wrong, I understand the instinct to not discourage kids from doing anything at a young age. But all we do nowadays is tell kids, “You’re all special and all so wonderful.” Then kids are thrown into the big, bad world with that sense of entitlement. But they don’t give you a Happy Doll when you can’t cut it out there -- they give you a pink slip.
The whole idea of preschool is a bit crazy. If it’s PRE-school, why are they doing what they do in school? Shouldn’t they just call it school? It used to be just day care. We’re so impatient for kids to grow up these days…just let them be kids for a couple years! Let them play in the mud and bring frogs in the house and generally annoy their mothers. You can learn how to count in French when you get to real school. If you decide to carry a purse around, that is.
Happy Crappy is just the beginning. Soon you’re 36 and married living in your parent’s basement. Trust me. It happened to the Jessups down the street. Their son was trying to be an artist. Too bad you can’t paint yourself a dollar bill. I love my daughters to death, but I cannot WAIT for them all to move out. Kristin’s room is going to be a cigar lounge, and Mandy’s room will be the trophy den. Already have the perfect hot tub picked out for Eve’s.