• Mommy Dearest

    by  • November 22, 2011 • Eff Off - You - or Up • 0 Comments

    Dear Mom,

    I think it’s time for me to put some of my thoughts on paper. So allow me to begin this letter you’ll never read, with a big fat, I hate you. I know you’re probably asking yourself why? How is it possible that you could’ve done something wrong to me? I sometimes forget just how perfect you are. Silly me. But, allow me to take this opportunity to fill you in on just what it is that I’ve been keeping inside for so many sad and lonely months.

    I get it, you didn’t like Sam. Truth be told, I didn’t really care for him too much either, that doesn’t mean you get to bring him up and remind me about my “poor taste in men” every three seconds. But while we’re on the subject, let’s talk about the fact that your 25 year old boyfriend just moved in with us, thanks for the heads up. I think it’s rather funny that Franki and I were together for two years, and you have the nerve to tell me that I wasn’t a good girlfriend. You can’t even keep a boyfriend for longer than 2 months, so hold your tongue. You’re boyfriend creeps me out. What really gets to me though, is the fact that you two have sex in the next room over while I’m home, here’s some advice, keep your moans down. It’s disgusting. I’d like to remind you that you are 37 years old, not 17, grow up. No mother, you cannot get drunk on my high school field trip, the fact that you would even asks makes me hate you more than I did yesterday.

    Let’s talk about how you keep telling me, that I’m not going to graduate this year. Here’s a secret, I’m going to graduate on June 12th and unlike you, there won’t be a baby attached to my hip. Should we touch base on the fact that you now want me to go and get a second job, because money is tight? Maybe you should stop going to football games, signing up for gym memberships that your fat ass doesn’t use, and maybe you should stop picking up the pieces of your boyfriends train wreck of a life.

    Quit talking bad about my dad. Describing him as my “sperm donor” doesn’t make me feel good about myself. It makes me feel like crap. Besides, I really don’t care to hear what you have to think about anything.

    You’re full of hate, fat, and air. Maybe if you didn’t walk around with your nose in the air people would like you.
    We’re not friends on Facebook for a reason, only moms with no parental responsibility throw a fit because we aren’t friends on Facebook; you’re not on there because I don’t like you.

    DO NOT take it upon yourself to call my job to ask what my hours are and then flip my manager attitude or you can pay me $150.00 every two weeks until I find a new job.

    I’d like to finish this letter by informing you that I will be moving out in June, packing up my stuff for college and never talking to you or your baby of a boyfriend ever again.


    P.S.- When I got my tattoo, I knew you’d be mad(:

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