Mother of the Year

I’m at a local thrift store, and this woman is walking around with her child. She’s talking on her phone, and he, probably no older than a year, is walking behind her (as well as a one year old can). She’s not paying any sort of attention to the child, who immediately leaps at a brightly colored, big, plastic game on top of a chair. The kid trips over his feet, grabs the game, and falls backwards bringing everything but the chair on top of him, and the surrounding floor. His mother turns around, stands him up, and continues to talk on the phone–very loudly giving whomever on the other line a play-by-play of everything happening, so we’ll all hear, “Yeah, he falls like a football player, so he doesn’t get hurt!” Then she has the nerve to ask another customer to pick up the game for her, and for some reason the customer obliges her. I wanted to tell her to shove the phone up her ass, and pick up after her kid, but she wouldn’t have heard me over her persistent claims, which made one thing clear as she rushed away: this child’s fallen so much because of mom’s lack of concern that he’s trained himself to fall so he doesn’t break his neck. Thus, I hereby award you: Mother of the Year.


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