My Fair Lady.  The epitome of grandeur, poise and intellect; infused with a touch of commonness, elegance and love.

Yeah…I’m a romantic.  So sue me.  The football girl has a girlie-girl interior, albeit a small portion…its there nonetheless.

But this post isn’t about My Fair Lady, Rex Harrison, Audrey Hepburn or me, myself and I.

Its about those morons I lovingly call my children.  And yes, they know how to speak….but following through on a chore?  That, my dear reader, is a horse of a different color.

The battle lines have been drawn.  I am planning a blitzkrieg offensive of the massive I-will-conquer-your-ass kind of warfare.

I am serious as cancer and twice as deadly.  Hell hath no fury than Jen pissed off.  And man oh man am I furious as a filibuster tonight.  Its a good thing I have a quasi-level head or there would be dead children at the base of the staircase.

I don’t ask for much.  I really don’t.  Keep your room clean.  Make your bed when you get up.  Don’t leave your towels all over the floor.  Don’t leave your crap strewn all through the house.  Wipe up the counter after you’re done brushing your teeth.  If you want to clean, please be my guest.  The only way you’re going to learn is by trial and error.  BUT…if you cook, you must clean up after yourself.

This last one NEVER gets done.  And I do mean never.  Now I talked to them the other day and fully explained EXACTLY how it should be done.  And did it get done tonight when they cooked AND (because I’m a nice Mom and bought them the cookie dough…of which the teen ate a sizable portion…) made cookies? 

HELL SHIT DAMN NO.

I am really tired of talking.  Of patiently explaining to them that there is a method to my madness.  That it is my job as the female parental unit…to train them to be decent, tidy, law abiding, upstanding citizens in these United States.  They just don’t get it.

So here I sit, my dear reader, trying to let the steam out for fear of possibly slaughtering the babes that once had I intensely nurtured.  I’m talking Leatherface Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Jason Vorhees hockey mask machete chopping, Michael Meyers babysitter brain-crushing, Freddy Krueger knife gloved dream invading, death.

Yeah…I’m just a tad peeved.

Alright…football has ended for the night.  Lost one game, won another.  Its going to be a looooooooong NFL season.

Hey…maybe there is some kind of football murder I can come up with.  I’ll have to look into that and get back to you.  Until then…..Bonne nuit, cher lecteur (Good night, dear reader).