This is just what we need in our break room at work…1.9 pounds of sour patch kids. 1.9 pounds!?!?! I wonder why not fill up that last .1? Just make it an even 2 pounds of soury sugary goodness!
I can’t help but eat them…
First they’re sour, then they’re sweet…then they’re laughing maniacally at all the cavities they just mined inside your precious teeth…and then they’re calling their conspirator dentist friends with code words like ‘operation root canal’ and ‘ insurance dream come true,’ reporting they expect their payment in small bills at the drop point at midnight.
So I’m here with my tiny little 5 year old baby at the mother fucking dentist.
Those of you who know how this brain works, know that my blood pressure sky rockets when I drive past this place, let alone being inside an office watching this awful process happen on my tiniest little precious lovely #2.
I want to bash their faces in. I want to pull the sharp silver daggers out of their hands and drive them into their eyeballs. I want to smash the stupid, calming, lava lamp into the awful flower paintings on the wall.
I can’t look. My eyes well up a little.
But just like that, it’s over…and she’s fine…and I can breathe again. My cold, clammy hands can allow blood back in. Thankfully I didn’t have to flip over tables and break windows.