On having finally grown a pair of balls. Small ones but.

To understand me we have to take a close look at the subject at hand. Not too close, you'll scare it. And if you're an authority figure, you'll reduce it to a quivering mass of stammers and big drowning eyes.

I'm not a total sap. I'm quite bold when it comes to cockroaches. And positively violent when I'm faced with a bowl of eggs to beat. Actually Father A tells me I'm rather militant in the way I yell at him. He credits me with the fact that in the last year, six of our neighbours have moved out. What saved our marriage is that we didn't like them particularly.

It's been hard at work. We've had people's tempers flying around and kicking holes in people's butts. There have been three suicide attempts and one guy threatened to TEAR UP THE PRINTER PAPER!

In all this bloodshed, I have stood thoroughly splattered. With gaping holes in every part of my body. That fact that I do a remarkable imitation of a house of cards every time there're some handles without people makes me a prime candidate for bullies.

Add to this the fact that important projects have been denied to me because I take off on a trip to see the Googliebooglies that live in the Magic Forest of Oogaba at the slightest and you have reason enough to kick up a fuss. Or at least tear some paper.

And so, I made a decision. I resigned. I decided that from this day on, I would no longer get free paper clips. I would pay for my internet access. I would cook for Father A EVERY SINGLE DAY. Because I'm a badass mutha who don't take no shit from no one.

And when I put in my papers, they took them and said, "hey, c'mon. Hang in there. You know we love you. "

And I'm like 'awwwwww....why don't I make us some banana cake and tea so we can talk huh? "