Everyone has this friend: the one who always has to one up you. You say Ouch, I stubbed my toe, and she says, You think that’s bad? I just had four toes amputated and my vagina almost fell off.
And in the competitive ring of parenting, one-ups-manship is a full-contact cardio sport. Ever try to complain to someone about wrangling your two kids through the grocery store only to be told that you should shut your pie hole, because she manages four while hobbling on one foot and enduring vagina pain?
How about that guy you know who’s got three– COUNT ‘EM one-two-three– kids in college at once? You do not want to complain about the price of a gallon of organic milk in front of him. Because he wins. He’s got more expenses than you can ever dream of, so again, pie hole = shut.
In my social circle, which is wider than you’d expect given my charming personality “quirks”, the worst of the worst are the parents of teenagers. How many times are they going to turn to me and say, Just. You. Wait. They act like my travails– having orange marker all over my couch or finding a Little Mermaid brush in my toilet– are fucking tiddly winks compared to what’s coming once my kids hit that hormone wall and start giving me the business.
In honor of my friends with teenagers, and you know who you are (and most of them don’t read this blog because they are “so fucking busy” assembling their lives after their teenagers have destroyed them by being all teenager-y), I have crafted a letter to you all asking for a truce in the Whose Got It Worse game. I’m willing to concede the victory to you if you would please, please just for once tell me something awesome about your teenager.
For more on this debate, give yourself the gift of clicking right here.