So on occasion, I throw a dramatic tantrum strictly for
comedic effect. It’s a service I provide free of charge that lightens a dark
mood or dissolves anger. Trust me. It’s funny. So one delightful afternoon I
walk into the kitchen to find Dewie making a peanut butter sandwich while opening
an envelope. She stares at the paper she pulled out with that wrinkly eye look
and her mouth slightly agape as if silently saying, “What the hell?”
“What’s up, buttercup?”
“Huh?” She looks up at me like she’s never seen me before. “Oh,
this.” She holds up the paper. “I don’t understand what… they didn't no they
definitely didn't put my overtime on here. What the hell? I worked two weekends
in a row and then nothing?!?!”
“Oh, well, yeah that sucks, you should call them or
something, but when I say ‘what’s up, buttercup’ then you say something back
that rhymes. It’s like a game.”
She scowls at the paper. “I don’t want to play.”
“Are you too mad to play?”
She looks at me like she’s going to say, “what the hell is
wrong with you?” but instead she says, “Yes. I’m too. Mad. To. Play.” Just like
that. All spaced out.
“Well then I’m mad too! What the hell? How DARE they mess up
your check? WHO THE HELL DO THEY THINK THEY ARE?!?!” I purse my lips in rage
and dramatically slap a pack of toilet paper off the counter that had come in
with the groceries but not found its way to the hall closet yet. The toilet
paper bounces off the cabinet and makes it into the next room. I ball up my
fists, throw my head back and growl. “AAARRRGGGGGRRRLLLL!!!!!”
I can tell Dewie’s trying not to laugh. She stands up with
her sandwich in one hand and a paper towel in the other. She rolls her eyes and
looks at me. “Are you quite finished?”
I make my eyes all ginormous and cop an attitude. “Maybe I
am and maybe I’m not!” With that I slap the sandwich out of her hand. I am
genuinely surprised that it has made its way to the floor. I didn't think I hit
it that hard. She stares at it on the floor and watches as the dog slowly slinks
her way over, watching us out of the corner of her eye and scarfs it up and then promptly gets out of the line of fire.
She looks kind of annoyed. “I can’t believe you just did
that.”
“Really?! Are you new here? You had to know I was coming for
the sandwich. Why weren't you holding it tighter?”
“I didn't know I needed a death grip on my damn sandwich! I
was getting to the good crust! I always save that part for last! You ruined the
good part of my sandwich!”
“Oh, no. I ruined the good crust?! What ever will we do? If
you would have just played the game none of this would have happened.”
“Fine. Make me a new sandwich, bit..”
“ALRIGHT! I’ll make you a new sandwich. But I'm going to do it angrily.”
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