Lesson fourteen: A rant is good for the soul

I could apologise for the following swearing, but I wouldn’t mean it. Don’t read if you don’t like fuck, because I say fuck a lot. Fuck.

My daughter isn’t wearing a tutu and tiara and my son isn’t head-to-toe in biege and that’s hard for you because there’s a chance she could be a he, or he a she, or she a she and he a he and you just wouldn’t know how to type cast them?

Off you fuck.

I’m not breastfeeding/bottle feeding/ traditional weaning/ baby led weaning/ hand rearing the cattle for milk and slaughter myself and that offends you because you did it differently?

Off you fuck.

Your dog’s just friendly and likes everyone and everything in any situation because they’re so well trained and dogs don’t have emotional responses after all?

Off you fuck.

I’m making a rod for my own back?

Nope. Fuck off.

They don’t sleep, and yours do? Have I tried a bath before bed?

Yep you can definitely jog on. Smug bastard.

Your little cherubs were walking, talking, sleeping, toilet trained and competing at an Olympic level by this age?

Off you fuck.

Your dog never steals food and can woof in Arabic?

You’re a liar, and off you fuck.

You’d like to know if they’re a good baby?

Well no actually, I can definitely see darkness in their eyes and last week I caught them ordering poison off Amazon. You don’t really need to fuck off, you probably meant well, but they’re all bloody good babies (except for the really shit ones).

Cloth nappies? Oohh you’ll be kicking yourself because of all the extra laundry.

O fuck off, I’m not trotting down to the river twice a day. I push a button on the machine.

Aaahh… no wait, you don’t have kids or dogs? I’m going to stop you right there, off you fuck.

And just to cover all bases, yes I know I’ve got my fucking hands full, I made my bed now jog on and let me shout at my dependants in it.