Mommy needs a tequila...

Mommy spent an hour in line to have Miss Peanut sit on Santa's lap.

Mommy is fucking crazy.

Mommy spent that hour sandwiched between Mrs. Snotty & her Stuck-Up Spawn and Hyperactive Harry and his Ho-Bag mom. Mrs. Snotty had her perfectly coiffed and attired brood standing quietly the entire time, and had the nerve to sneer at Miss Peanut, who twirled and pranced while in line. It must be said, that Miss Peanut did whine a tad (oh, my bleeding eardrums), but I was ready to whine after standing there for 30 minutes, not even knowing I had 30 more to go. I seriously think that Mrs. Snotty employs some thorazine in the management of her clutch of chicks. No children can be that docile and compliant without pharmaceutical intervention.

Hyperactive Harry spent the time running around, trying to escape the line, forcing one of his caretakers to run after him. Ho-bag mom, dressed in a leather micro-mini, jaunty corduroy cap over blonde extensions, and low-cut fur-trimmed sweater was too busy gabbling on her cell phone in a gravelly 3-pack-a-day voice to take charge of her offspring. She was too busy bitching about how unmanageable he was. Cretin.

The entire duration of the visit with Santa, after the seemingly interminable wait in line, lasted for 60 seconds. I'm building a fire this Christmas Eve and roasting that fat fucker when he comes down our chimney.

Mommy would give Daddy's left testicle for a good Margarita right now. Merry Fucking Christmas.