DON’T.TAKE.MY.SHIT.

(Disclaimer: No teenagers were injured during this exchange.)

I don’t have a ton of shit. My shit isn’t the most expensive shit or the best shit but it’s MY SHIT. And when I put my shit somewhere, I expect my shit to be there when I’m ready for it.

This morning started out gloriously as most sunny Friday’s* do. Kids at school, a quiet house. Preparing for my peaceful morning run, my mood went from jovial to WHO IS GOING TO DIE in less than 3 seconds when I reached for my iPod and my headphones were missing. HANNAH!!!!

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve told my daughter NOT TO TAKE MY SHIT. Tweezers and my face lotion on her last trip, my deodorant last weekend, but this was over the line. This is MY time, MY morning, MY exercise.. MY SHIT! I never had a sister who did this to me and quite frankly, I only share my shit with others who ask because I know it’s the right thing to do.

Let’s just say shit got pretty heated. Shitty texts flew, shitty threats were made, another set of shitty headphones were broken, my husband got caught in the crossfire and quietly got his shit out of the house. (On a side note, it’s at times like this that I wish I didn’t cuss so much because now that I really meant it, it didn’t convey my anger like it should have)

Anyway, I went on my shitty, musicless run. (dragging my poor dog behind me) and when I got home, luckily for my daughter, there were at least 10 texts and a missed call. Long story short, the little shit apologized.

I think I freaked the shit out of her because she’s home now and on her best behavior.

P.S. I’m going out tonight and I will be “borrowing” Hannah’s new Mac Book. I’m sure that SHIT will hurt!

*Written on Friday but Amy posted that day so it had to wait. I didn’t change a word. I stand by this story..