When I was a kid, I always had to have the last word.

This trait of mine infuriated my mom, who believes that children should be respectful of their elders at all times. (I do too, but not when I was a kid.)

“No, you can’t have another glass of chocolate milk.”

“But I want one!”

“I said no!”

“Yes!”

“Did you hear what I just said? No!”

“But I want one!” Whine, boo, bitch and moan.

whine

One day, when I was being extra bratty and feeling brave, I pushed my mom to the limit of her sanity.

Oh yes, my friends, the chase was on. She took off after my belligerent ass and I tucked tail, running for my life.

Out through the back door, I sped through the yard, hurtling dog turds, with my mom close behind me. I made a quick detour through the secret opening in the bushes into our neighbors yard, thinking that maybe I could trick her somehow, but she was hot on my trail.

We both put on a show for our neighbors, although if they were watching I have no idea. My eyes were on the prize, as I pumped my kid legs as fast as they would go, finally managing to get back to our property, this time the front yard.

The only thing I could do (besides running away from home) was to go back into the house.

girl-with-suitcase1-227x300
I’m gonna join the circus and you’ll be sad! Ha!

I could hear my mom muttering obscenities, more than likely directed at me, the fruit of her loins.

I flew through the front door, knowing that my minutes were numbered. Back into the kitchen I went, the starting point of the whole mess.

Oh shit, I was cornered!

There stood my mom, hands on her hips, slightly out of breath. I swear to you that her eyes were red that day, nostrils flaring.

I was screwed. Why didn’t I just shut my smart mouth when I had the chance? Would I ever learn?

Will Trump become our next president?

Fuck, I really hope not.

I digress.

Knowing that I had no more viable options, I plopped my rear end onto the floor. I was a hefty child, so she would have to pick me up somehow to give me the smacking that I so rightly deserved.

This was the early 80’s, so giving your kid a whack on the ass was still okie dokie.

My last minute attempt at salvation did not work. My mom was stronger than me, I had forgotten this little tidbit. She wrapped her arm around me, lifted me up and planted a firm palm upon my rump. She might have done it twice and I honestly don’t blame her.

I’m not sure if she remembers this incident, but I always will.

The day mom was on the run.

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