honk

Being a Mom has it's privileges. Like being allowed to honk three extra times per witnessed traffic atrocity. It's in the rule book you get as your vagina is being stitched back into place - if some heathen dares not accelerate at the first millisecond of a left hand arrow, I get to lean on the horn like it makes money fall from the sky with each exaggerated fisted punch "HAWWWWWNK." "HAWNNNKYHOOOOOONK." "HONKHONKHONK." If you hear that pent up aggression you know the person behind you in that sick Honda Civic, blasting L7 to stay awake at 7pm, is a Mom. And she wants you to give a f-ck about what you're doing and move your ass.

I also get to grocery shop real late styles, with half my hair matted and styled to the side like a shih tzu's ponytail, and get super sad when the in-store music is some ballad from 1994 that I had no idea I was so invested in emotionally. Why isn't there Christmas music playing? I'll take Alvin and the Chipmunks scrotal crooning over Sophie B. Hawkins every f-cking day

As a Mom you also get to start making those amazing missteps that you needle your Mom about. Like me paying for all my food and special edition Glade bathroom deodorizer (poop smell won't even know what hit it when candy cane vanilla smell punches it in the face!), then parking my cart to the side so I can pee before the long ride home. As I come whipping out of the bathroom, mind racing with thoughts of what else I can possibly cram into this day, I grab my cart and in slo-mo swing it around to start marching to the carpark and... what the f-ck is that? I didn't buy Raisin Bran.

Look up into the surprised eyes of the actual owner of the groceries in the cart and realize I am attempting to take this man's food. I apologized profusely and move towards my cart which was about 3 steps further away. He tells me he didn't do anything in reaction because I looked "so determined." Yup, determined to be a super loser.

You'll be pleased to know I got home without further incident AND the bathroom smells great.