Please believe me

So, my kid pulls this together the other day.

As all great parents are wont to do, I captured it, then texted it out to friends so we could "celebrate her unique and flavourful style." Aka laugh at the crazy catlady baby.

I got lots of appreciative responses, but the one I fixated on was a message that said "Sorry, do I know you?" Aaaaaaand my back was IMMEDIATELY up. (Cue a wig being thrown off, my shirt rippling along my spine and splitting open and 4 inch fingernails busting through the end of my fingers.) No. You know what? This chick isn't sorry- she was passive aggressively being a c-nt bucket. She obviously has one of my friend's old phones AND doesn't appreciate this picture. So, she's clearly crazy and retarded.

After a few back and forth exchanges, my day is RUINED. By a complete stranger. Who thinks I'm asking for her number to come and rape her. Right, me and my my 20 month old in her straw hat are deadly vagina hungry assassins. F-ck. Nuv had to take the phone away from me on the playground because I was being an illogical hothead instead of keeping tabs of my kid who was stumbling around in 22 lbs of clothes.

Why does this random sh-t rub me so raw? I have maybe received 2 accidental texts in my life and guess what my response is? "Wrong number padre." Informative with a slight elbow to the ribs smile. I cannot handle when it is assumed I am a bad person. I don't care if you don't know me - if I say my intentions are good, you have to believe me. If you ask was I the one who scraped your car and I say no, the thought that you may not believe me will launch a 5 minute cavalcade of helpful advice so as to find out who did in fact scrape your car.

I still get shaky smoking angry when I think about the bouncer who didn't believe me when I tried to get back into the Yaletown Brew Pub. LAST OCTOBER.

I bleed sugar and magic. I smell like vanilla icing. My middle name is Glinda. DON'T F-CK WITH MY GOOD INTENTIONS.

The chick never did let me know what her number was. So it is still stored in my phone under someone else's name. So, my next bulk text? A closeup of my kid's diaper after a berry & bran gorge. Sorry friends.