NaBloPoMo

Snitches get stitches.

 

“I don’t want to hear it unless someone is dying.”

“Stop tattling on your sister.”

“But did you die?”

No one likes a gossip. Parents don’t like tattletales. Even the Supreme Court doesn’t like hearsay.

And no one likes snitches.

Because snitches get stitches.

The beauty of becoming an adult is you’re an adult. Anything you say or do is none of your parents’ concern anymore. Get arrested? Oh well. Didn’t pay your taxes? That’s your problem. Halloween candy for breakfast? Sure, go ahead.

Scott and I are living with a snitch. Her name is Kate. She’s eight. When something doesn’t go her way – she tells our parents.

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Kate: Mom, can I see your phone? Hello? Nana? It’s Kate. YOUR SON THREW A CURVE BALL AT ME AND IT HIT MY BOOB. AND YOU NEED TO YELL AT HIM.

__________

Me: Stop eating all the Halloween candy! It’s not good for you!

Kate: Your dad said it’s fine. YOUR DAD. PAPA. You have to listen to your dad so that’s your problem.

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Kate: Dad, can I see your phone? Hello? Papa? It’s Kate. Will you come over here and pick me up? I want donuts. BECAUSE YOUR SON IS BEING LAZY AND WON’T GET HIS DAUGHTER BREAKFAST.

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Kate: Wait, so why were you drinking sangria in this picture in Spain if you were in high school?

Me: In Spain, you have to be 18 to drink, not 21. I was 18.

Kate: Did your parents know?

Me: Not sure. I was 18, didn’t matter.

Kate: Telling your mom what you did.

Snitches get stitches. Snitches get thrown out on my blog.

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And don’t forget to buy my book, “But Did You Die?”

 

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