Water Bottle, Water Bottle. Wherefore Art Thou Water Bottle

I take every opportunity possible to embarrass Sissy et. al. She’s nine and I’ve earned this with each eye I’ve tolerated. 

She’s in dance and she’s one of “those” girls. Like those girls who goes four days a week ten+ hours, who knows, I don’t care. I wasn’t born with the dance mom gene, I’ve had to try and develop it. Which is tough with the zero fucks I give.

Where am I going with this?

Ah yes. So this years she’s stopped competing and I thought, “Hells yes!” What am I going to do with all this extra money and time? Time to take up heroine or something else fancy like that! I kid.

But Nooooooooo. There’s this new thing called “performance company”. And it’s worse than compeition. Like waaaaaay worse. Like the first day the director schedules head shots.

She’s 9! I wanted to be a mermaid when I was 9!

Ok so when she’s in these rehearsals she’s with high schoolers and girls she has looked up to for years (because shits getting real people) and she warns me….”don’t embarrass me mom!”

Embarrass you?! The girl who just told me that ALL of the food I cook in the crockpot taste like LITERAL dirty socks? Why on earth would I do that?

*5 minutes into class in my best sing songy voice*

“OH SISSY ET. AL! YOU FORGOT YOUR SNOWMAN BLOOD IN THE CAR!!”

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