Hating the Boss

by Kristen Granata

Life is crazy. A chance encounter can tilt your entire world on its axis. You can’t always see the reason why things happen in the beginning, but eventually, it all clicks into place.

My mom says that’s how you know something’s wrong: You start downplaying your unhappiness and comparing it to domestic abuse.

Ding, dong, the dick is gone!

“I have two toddlers. The word hurry left my vocabulary a long time ago.”

“What mother hopes her daughter had sex with a random stranger?” “A mother who cares about her daughter. That’s who.”

Eyes on the prize, not on her thighs.

Why don’t we ever run into our exes when we have our hair and make-up done? It’s like one of the laws of physics: An object that looks like trash shall run into everyone she knows while she looks like trash.

Girls physically cannot keep a secret from their besties. It’s a gene that’s missing from our DNA.

“Let’s watch Texas Chainsaw Massacre. That Chucky doll creeps me out.” Mom stifles a groan. “Isn’t there anything else you’d like to watch?” “It’s blood and terror, or I’m going back to my room.”