add 20% worry tax.
take twenty steps further away from your own childhood and closer toward
rigid ass clenching responsibility
add 20% refusal to become your mother, take twenty steps back.
spend Undefined amount of years taking before mentioned twenty steps back and forth until your legs are hopelessly tangled and you fall on your face,
breaking your two front teeth and turning your thighs to cottage cheese, insuring that after all, you become your mother.
spend Undefined amount of years and cash replacing teeth, excercising away cottagecheesiness, and crying to your therapist, insuring that you never feel good enough, and your husband
slaps your ass and tells you, honey- remember last night? you will never be like your mother.
spend emergency fund on car crash, emergency room trips, braces and someone's gambling problem.
minus 5 years of life for the year he was a senior and thought he got her pregnant. they asked you to raise the child.
add 10% tax due to financial strain, and sex toys.
add 20% bonus for pee inducing laughter and holding vomit in your hands. (give yourself pat on the back for vomit holding. remind self it's never to late to get a nanny.)
when you roll up to the register, your hair will be thin and grey. your vagina will be stretched, but very happy. your thighs will have cottage cheese. you
will be approximately 1%-20% your mother. your father, the same. this left anywhere between 98% and 60% of yourself to blame for however you fucked up your kids.
your heart- did we mention your heart? this will be full.
no cash back.