Consolation Prize
An instant later, he demanded, “Why’re you bothering me?”
I snorted. “Like I called to talk to a scroatbag like you. Get my sister on the line.”
“She’s got more important things to do than talk to a shit stain like you. She’s busy wiping my kid’s ass.”
My two-and-a-half-year-old niece Teagan was in the midst of potty training, and she was being a resistant little turd—much like her father—so I asked, “Diaper or toilet?”
Ten sighed. “Still diaper. I swear, that kid’s going to shit her pants until she’s thirty.”