Oh my god! Quit! Quit eating on the bed. Quit eating on the bed. Quit eating on the bed. Quit eating on the bed. Quit eating on the bed. Quit eating on the bed. Quit eating on the bed. Quit eating on the bed. Quit eating on the bed. Quit eating on the bed. Quit eating on the bed. Quit eating on the bed. Quit eating on the bed. Quit eating on the bed. Quit eating on the bed. Quit eating on the bed. Quit eating on the bed. Quit eating on the bed. Quit eating on the bed. Please quit eating on the bed!
I’ve asked you like 17 fucking times! I hate it. I have like ONE thing that I hate, and that is it. Don’t eat there. I never asked you not to eat in the room; not even not to eat near the bed. …Just don’t eat on the fucking bed! PLEASE!!
You have like a dozen things that you hate, and I damn well (close as I can) comply with your wishes on that. But you…
I came in this afternoon, from work, to find Harmony sitting Indian style on our bed, chowing down on chuletas, arroz, y habicuelas. …on the bed. On the Bed! Just last night she plopped down with a bowel of cereal before I looked at her like, “Jesus, please!”.
“But I don’t spill anything!” She protests. “You do…”
Like that makes it any better.
Don’t eat there!
…I flipped out a little bit. I didn’t curse. I didn’t really yell (that much). But this is like the 4th time she’s done it right in front of me.
If you’re going to do something behind my back (like I write on this blog behind your back) at least be smart enough to not get caught. Getting caught says that you don’t give a fuck what I think about it. Quit eating on the bed!
