My husband just yelled at me in front of my parents.

 

I yelled back. Duh.

 

The girls were driving me bananas with a helium balloon left over from Miss Poopie Pants’ birthday party. I grabbed said balloon and popped it with a steak knife.

 

Neither one of the kids saw me do it and they were both off to other things already.

 

He said, “What is wrong with you?! You just POPPED her balloon?!”

 

I looked at my mother sitting to his left and my father sitting to his right and took a moment to deliberate before I answered. Did they raise me to say things like “I’m sorry”?

 

Nope.  Well, yeah, when I do something wrong. But I feel completely justified in busting a balloon that has smacked me in the head ninety nine freaking times this afternoon alone.

 

So, I said, “Yes, I popped it. And if you had to deal with it all freaking day, you’d have popped it too.”

 

Then I slammed some stuff around my kitchen, which was just awkwaaaard for mom and dad, and dad wanted to jet. But, mom talked him into hanging out. I don’t know if she wanted to see if we’d come to fist to cuffs, or if she wanted to make sure I didn’t kill anyone.

 

Either way, everyone is calmed down now. Till the kids go to bed and I let him have it for YELLING AT ME IN FRONT OF MY FUCKING PARENTS.

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