Disclaimer: I will not be vomiting puppies, rainbows, and unicorns in this post. Instead, I will be spewing foul language and verbal vomit. If you stopped by this evening looking for the prior, go on ahead and click the little x in the upper right hand corner. But if you have ever been in the shoes I was in tonight {and I’m not talking about my cute, black bow, peep toe flats}, you will be right there with me. 

To all the judgmental people at the restaurant tonight, fuck you.

To the older couple with the two withdrawn, emo teenagers rolling their eyes and making comments under their breath, fuck you.

To the waitress who was shoving the bill in my face before I could even shove my chicken sandwich down my throat who also has a 3.5 month old, fuck you.

To the manager who kept walking by and huffing and walking by some more, fuck you.

To the hostess who was beyond subtle with her stares and who thought she was doing everyone favor by not seating them near us, fuck you.

To the greeter who mentioned on my way out that family night is Tuesday and that “Momma’s shouldn’t pinch their babies” and thought she was being cute, fuck you.

To all the judgmental people at the restaurant tonight who really knew how to kick a mom who’s been up at 4 am every day this week and hasn’t had a break in forever and who at times is very, very down, fuck you.

To my husband who quickly ate his meal so that he could take the baby outside to quiet him down, thank you.

To my three year old who sang me songs and gave me hugs to cheer me up while I practically cried in my cookie sundae, thank you.

To my 3.5 month old who deceived us into thinking that he was going to be good but started wailing the minute the food hit the table but is now laughing and cooing at me, thank you.

To my dear readers who will pour another glass of wine {or beer or hard alcohol, whatever floats your boat} and raise it to give me a “fuck yeah”, thank you.

Can I get a fuck yeah?

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