Little Moby Homemaker: Domestic God

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You've Got A (Sh#tty) Friend

Moby Homemaker

I am an out of work "At Home Dad" who has risen from the ashes like an overweight, over worked, under paid phoenix to become a "Domestic God"

As anyone who has children knows, children are a blessing from God.  However, in the opinion of this Domestic God, sometimes our kids' friends are not.  Don't get me wrong, my children have some wonderful friends that Mrs. Homemaker and I truly adore.  This piece is NOT about them.

No, this is a verbal tirade on those "little shit" friends my kids have.  Every child has that dickhead pal that his or her parents cannot stand.  Sometimes, as parents, we can be utterly baffled that our "little angels" could have chosen such little fuckin' bastards as friends.  Yet, other times, we, the parents bring this situation upon our children and ourselves--because the little shit is the devil spawn of our friends. This is just such a scenario.

Among the immeasurable number of things I inherited from my father, the presumption that other peoples' kids suck has been (for better or worse) a part of my core belief system.  Of course, this way of thought is simply not true--and I am working through my own personal issue.  But, our friends' son "Eddie" has tested my "recovery".

Last week, my wife received a phone call from one of her friends.  Her friend explained to The Mrs. that she was in a bind and really needed someone to watch their 8-year-old son Eddie for the day while she was out-of-town tending to emergency "family business".  She went on to explain that Eddie  just "loved" to play with our two sons and asked if he could hang out at our house for the day.

Of course, (without consulting me--the person who would be home with the kids all day) my wonderful spouse lent a helping hand and told her friend that we would be "more than happy" to take care of Eddie for the day.

Fast forward to the next day.  My wife headed out for work.  Shortly after, Eddie was at our door.  The morning started quiet enough.  Eddie and my two sons played in the basement as I munched on a bag of Hostess Little Chocolate Donuts while watching "The View" a floor above.  All seemed right with the world.

That is, until Eddie poked his head around the corner.  He was not with my sons.  I asked him what was up?  He indicated that he was hungry.  I told him that I had some fresh fruit and juice prepared for them. (How fucking responsible is that shit??).  Eddie responded by telling me that he didn't care for fruit and wanted my donuts.  MY DONUTS??!!   I gingerly explained to this ill-mannered little puke that the donuts were mine--ALL MINE, and that I would be happy to get him some fruit.  With that, Eddie turned around and I heard him mumble, "you're a jerk".  Of course, this set the tone for what would be Edie's last visit to MY home.

My wife had procured free passes to the local "Putt N' Stuff" for me to entertain the kids with.  So, after we had lunch--a professional PB&J lunch catered by me, that by the way Eddie said "sucked"--I took my two sons and this fucking prick out for some kiddy fun.  Things went pretty well until Eddie wanted a "treat".  I told Eddie that I would be happy to get each of the boys a candy bar--a cheap $1 candy bar.  Eddie felt that he needed a sundae--the $5.50 sundae.  I told Eddie that next time he should bring some money and get one himself--he was begrudgingly going to get that candy bar.  With this information, Eddie flipped me "The Bird".  That's right--this little fucker gave me the finger!

It's moments like this that I am sure God gave us brains and the ability to reason.  So help me Lord, my initial thought was to knock this pint-sized ass clown right out!  Then reasoning kicked in--you know, I'd surely be arrested, publicly humiliated and universally loved by anyone who knows this little fuck (except his parents) if I went through with such a truthfully appropriate reaction.  Luckily, I was wearing a Collared Shirt that repelled this negative sentiment.  And shortly after the boys devoured their candy bars (yeah, that's right Eddie), we headed back to our house for a little more play.

Praise God, Allah, Jehovah, Muhammad and whomever else--it was 4:00, time for me to take Eddie home!!!  I called to the basement and let the boys know that we had to return Eddie home.  Shortly thereafter, my two sons came up.  They let me know that Eddie was not planning on joining them.  Apparently, this little bastard wanted to stay!  So, I went downstairs to roust Eddie up and out of our home.  Once face to face with me, Eddie let me know in no uncertain terms that he "wasn't leaving and there was nothing that could do about it".

Apparently, Eddie was unaware of the hereditary condition that renders me unable to give one shit about the feelings of other peoples' bratty ass kids.  I looked in this 8-year-old, Hillrod-in-Waiting, prick's face and said, "Good--if you live here, I'll be able to kick your ass at will and ram my sucky PB&Js and fruit down your cake hole!".  Needless to say, Eddie quickly got in check and we headed to his house.

Luckily for Eddie and, moreover, myself ,we learned that the "family business" that was occurring that day involved an out-of-town transfer for his dad.  Eddie and his family will be leaving our community in the next month.  So, I have no qualms about writing this eye-opening and inflammatory review of my time providing child care for our soon to be ex-friends' incubus.  This Domestic God is lucky that his wonderful kids have good friends--and that this little shit one will be two states away.  Because if Eddie weren't leaving town--I was going to apply my kids for the "Young Mercedes Rollin' Killas" street gang.  I think I would rather my boys hang with them...



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1 Comment

Daisy said:

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My stars, this was fun to read. Very funny stuff! My favorite part hands down:
"Good--if you live here, I'll be able to kick your ass at will and ram my sucky PB&Js and fruit down your cake hole!".


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