Ahhhhh.
  Falling asleep to the dulcet tones of
    My screaming baby,
      My snoring husband,
        And the Roomba ******* up what sounds like an entire box of Cheerios.

Your top knot,
It looks so cute.
My top knot…
        Does not.

Your top knot,
It makes you seem young and fun.
My top knot…
        Does not.

Your top knot,
It’s a little messy but not too messy; really just the perfect amount of messy.
My top knot…
        Looks like a sad, wispy rat’s nest.

Your top knot,
It’s ******* perfect.
My top knot…
        What top knot? I’m wearing my hair down. Who’s talking about top knots?

“Happy birthday, kiddo!
We got you this drum!”
Were the last words heard in my home.

Now it’s:
Bang bang bang.
Boom boom boom.
Bang boom. Bang boom.
Boom bang. Boom bang.
How fun.

What a fun fun fun toy.
So much **** fun.
He bangs the drum.
We hear the drum.
The neighbors hear the drum.
Strangers walking past our house hear the drum.
People who live down the street, around the corner, across the highway, right next to the construction zone hear the drum.

You can’t not hear this drum.
It’s. So. Fun.
So so so much ****
          -- BOOM BANG BOOM BANG BOOM --
                    Fun.

“Happy day-after-your-birthday, kiddo!
We got you this very soft and incredibly silent stuffed hippo!”

Let us never speak of the drum again.

Last night I had a little too much to drink.
How much is too much?
Hmmm, lemme think...

I.
     Got.
              Bangs.

I got bangs! Did you hear me?
I got ******* bangs!
But this wasn't a pro job...
I gave myself bangs.

Are the bangs a good haircut?
Do the bangs frame my face?
All solid questions;
It depends on your taste:

Should bangs be all jagged?
Should they move on their own?
Is it cool if they’re aflutter,
Like I’m always windblown?

Should bangs be greasy, and stringy, and frizzy?
And this here bangs cowlick, does it make me look pretty?

I was going for Taylor Swift, circa 2010.
What I got was a late ‘80s George Harrison.

These bangs are a problem,
I’m starting to think.
Maybe I can fix them,
After another strong drink.

Purge mode! Purge mode!
Everything must go!

I haven’t worn these pants in at least twelve months.
Purge!

This was my go to cute top in ‘07, but it shrunk.
Purge!

These shoes are embarrassingly loud, they go “THWUMP, THWUMP, THWUMP.”
Purge!

Once, in this dress, someone mistakenly thought I was knocked up.
Purge!

Cool expensive hat from Anthropologie I’ve worn not a once?
Oh wait, maybe keep that one.
Nah, just kidding, PUUUUUUUURGE!

Hey there, Blue Apron,
We need to talk.
Come into my office.
Have a seat, big shot.

No no no, this time it isn’t
About all the pots.
Although those are an issue.
For sure. There’s just a lot.

Today I’d like to chat with you
About your clock.
Do you own one? Have you seen one?
You’ve heard a “tick tock?”

That’s confusing because you say here
The Glazed Chicken with Apricot
Should take 25 minutes.
But I can assure you, it does not.

I spent half an hour
Just giving the shallots a chop.
Not to mention mincing ginger
And making the chicken stock.

Maybe if I had a team of sous chefs
Or ran a kitchen sweatshop,
I’d get this **** done,
In 25 minutes tops.

So, while it pains me, Blue Apron,
I’ve given it some thought,
And I have to let you go.
This really needs to stop.
Because I simply have no more patience,
For this Glazed Chicken with Apricot.

Kid Number One got all the attention.
Classes and playgroups and that’s not to mention,

The toys!
Oh the toys, oh the hundreds of toys.
Kid Number One simply had TOO MANY TOYS!

A kitchen, a dollhouse, crayons galore.
Enough princess dresses to fill up ten drawers!

An easel, a ball pit, a bear that gives hugs.
Everything sold by Melissa & Doug!

So for Kid Number Two, what do we do?
“Hey buddy, mom’s tired. Go play with this shoe.”