I hate to hate, but I fucking hate you. I know you don’t mean anything by it, and I know your mother said that some people just shouldn’t have kids, and I know that makes you think that your not having any is okay. Okay. Fine. But if you tell me one more time how you made a mercury thermometer as a science project in front of the whole class and you’re no imbecile, I’m going to beg to differ. It doesn’t matter how big my Christmas tree is as long as I don’t have any kids? Aw, thanks, I feel so much better. I know you know. You stood there and asked me when my due date was as we stood in a big fucking cloud of toluene vapors. And I said “I’m not pregnant anymore.” As if I’d be so fucking stupid as to knowingly bring my pregnant body into such an awful environment. I gotta get out of here.
I know how fine a line it is between saying something to make the listener feel stupid and saying something to make yourself feel stupid. I’m so sick of feeling stupid! And I’m sick of thinking how stupid you are. It doesn’t matter what I think. I appreciate what you have to teach me, but I’m no longer interested in learning. It’s not you, it’s me.