Barbie Doesn't Have Nipples, and Other Recent Tantrum Triggers

In which a two-year-old confronts the cruelty of this world with much moaning and thrashing about



We took a bus ride, and it ended.


We watched a movie, and it ended.


We ate a shave ice ("snow cone" to you non-Hawaii people), and then it was gone.


The Y-shaped strap of his slipper ("flip-flop" to you non-Hawaii people) was inserted between the first and second toes, not his preferred position, between the second and third toes.


I cut his pasta.


I removed his filthy, pee-soaked, firetruck-bedecked pants.


I refused to carry him five steps to the door.


Dad tried to drive Mom's car.


Mom tried to wear Dad's glasses.


The yellow Play-Doh mixed, irrevocably, with the blue.


Mr. Potato Head's second ear was, and still is, nowhere to be found.

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