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And Now a Note from Your 7-Year-Old
You’ve gotta admit he’s got a way with words
Photo by Thomas Park on Unsplash
Dear Mom and Dad,
I don’t understand what’s happening around here. You people asked me what I wanted for my birthday, and I told you. A missile launcher. Not a real one you ninnies. A toy one.Ryan got one for his birthday, and he’s only six. It’s not his fault his stupid little sister got her stupid little hands on it and nearly lost her stupid eye. She’s a stupid girl, for God’s sake.
I mean what’s the point of asking me what I want if you have no intention of getting it? You set me up. Led me to believe you’d come through. It’s like you want me to have trust issues.
I’ve cried myself to sleep every night since my birthday party, but you don’t care. You think I’m cuddling with that ridiculous Gloria Owl grandma got me. Have you read the reviews on that thing? Its hair falls out and kids ingest it. And you wonder why I’m wheezing.
I don’t know how we’re supposed to go forward like this. You implied I’d get that missile launcher, so I have to wonder, do I really have a college savings account? Or are you simply stockpiling cash so you can someday turn my room into a sex den?
Oh yeah. I know all about sex. Ryan told me while his mom was getting oxygen in the emergency room. Such an over-reactor.
I don’t care what you say. I’m buying that missile launcher with the birthday money grandma stuck up Gloria Owl’s butt. It’s sticky with snot but when it dries, I’m going straight to the toy store. When you discover me missing, say a prayer and wish me well.
It’s been awhile since I last hitchhiked and I’m a little rusty.
Your Missile Launcher-less, But Not for Long, Son,