SweetJesusMotherofGod.

There is a CHILD here.  A noisy, BIPOLAR CHILD.

I have already tried to overdose on Aleve once, to no avail.
Now I remember why I leave home during these meetings.

(Explanation: Pony Club meeting, and somebody couldn't get a sitter (I hope).  Pony Club is where hordes of horse people descend upon our house and drive me to the shelter of the upstairs domicile.  These people are scary, as fellow members will attest.  They turn upon their own kind at the slightest provocation, and some are medicated to begin with.)

But I digress.... CHILDREN.  AGH.  POUNDING.  HEADACHE.

So not the June Cleaver sort.... The maternal cooings might be even more offensive to my ears.  "Aww, look!  His first temper tantrum!!"  Me: "You know, we do have duct tape in the garage...."

I just walked downstairs to notify someone of a phone call.
Random Girl: "Do you live here?"
Me: "*Insert Look*  Yes, but not often."

Now really.  Do I live here?  I'm only emerging from random sections of the house to which YOU are not granted access, entirely casual, obviously not part of Pony Club, and asking where Dad is because he has a phone call.  Now, granted, I could be from some parallel dimension and merely temporarily slipped across various spheres of existence, which is entirely likely, but the possibility that I am an agent of Satan here to collect your soul is more probable (then again, she's in middle school, thus probably doesn't have one).  So you tell me.

SweetJesusMotherofGod.

There is a CHILD here.  A noisy, BIPOLAR CHILD.

I have already tried to overdose on Aleve once, to no avail.
Now I remember why I leave home during these meetings.

Oh wait, I already said all that....

I can't even leave, because they have diabolically parked the entire family in on all sides!  IT'S A TRAP!!  AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

*Commences hiding in terror*