Yeah, you. The one with the cheeks and the striped puppy jammies. I'm talking to you.
Here's the thing, you chubby round little ball of squishiness. Just when I think I've had enough of you and your silliness, just when I think I'm finally over you, you go and get yourself a pair of striped puppy jammies and then what am I supposed to do? Couldn't leave well enough alone, could you? As if those baby blues weren't enough? Trust me, Mister. It's not me. IT'S YOU.
I don't know why I put up with any of it, really. Always with the fingers in your mouth, the blatant flirting with other women, the complete inability to manipulate semi-solid food in a way that guides even a tiny portion of it down your esophagus rather than all over your belly-- you'd think I would learn.
I don't even remember the last time you picked up the check.
And that's not even the worst of it. It's so obvious, so absolutely, undeniably CLEAR that you're totally into another girl. Don't even try to deny it. I've seen the way you look at her, all dreamy-eyed and drooly. When she's around, it's like I'm not even there. You can't keep your eyes off of her.
I hear all the nonsense she says. The completely unprovoked, out-of-the-blue comments she comes up with for no apparent reason at all, like, "I want some bouncy shoes so I can jump all the way to the spaceship!" or, "Daddy, I don't want to watch football and that guy in California doesn't want to watch football" or, "I don't have to go potty right now. Maybe on Mensday."
What does she have that I don't?
I should've listened to my mother. She told me it wouldn't last. Said you'd learn to scoot and roll your way to basically whatever spot you wanted, and that would be the beginning of the end. You've started balancing on your hands and knees and rocking back and forth, and before I know it you'll be motoring all over the place without the least bit of regard for me and my needs. It's coming any day now, I can just feel it, and do you want to know what I think about that? No? Well, I'll tell you anyway. I don't know what in the world you plan on doing when you get wherever it is you're going, because let's face it. You can't even sit up for any real amount of time without tipping over and conking your head every two minutes.
Oh yeah. I went there. You deserved it, you smoochable little munchkin snack. I've had enough of your little giggles and slobbery, crooked grin. A girl's gotta have a little dignity, and after months of nuzzling your neck and nibbling your toes at every opportunity, I'm taking what's left of mine. Maybe I'll move to the city, I don't know. I'll make it work. This is it.
For REAL this time. I'm outta here. REALLY. Sayonara.
P.S. Call me, k?