What The Hell Do You Mean It’s Not My Birthday

Child looking angry

What the actual FUCK do you mean it’s not my birthday? How can I not have a birthday when Riley just brought cupcakes into kindergarten last week for hers? How can I not have a birthday when I literally went to Jack’s party and he had a fucking Optimus Prime there? Tanner gets the real Spider-Man and I get NOTHING? Not even a fucking DATE on the CALENDAR?

You’re telling me that the calendar just skipped my birthday? It just skipped February 29, the day I was born? Bullshit. Fucking bullshit. You’re all fucking gaslighting me right now. You’re gaslighting a fucking kindergartener. I hope you feel good about yourselves, lying right in the face of a little innocent five-year old, or WHATEVER I EVEN AM at this point. It’s your problem, because you’ll be on the hook for all the therapy bills I’m gonna have in ten years after this bullshit.

No, I don’t want to celebrate on March 1st. Stop patronizing me. I know that’s not my fucking birthday. Who the hell made this calendar, anyway? Did they have some kind of vendetta against me? Oh, God, I knew it. I’ve known they were out to get me from the day I was born. The government’s trying to stop me
from being the first one-year-old kindergarten graduate.

I’m absolutely fucking furious. That’s a word I just learned from my Level 2 Reader. Yeah, you heard me, I’m level 2 already. I can read at a first-grade level, my object permanence skills and motor skills are off the goddamn charts, and more importantly, I can read right through whatever the fuck you’re trying to pull on me.

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