19 Years of Sass

My 19-year-old son loves to push my buttons, and he knows exactly how to find each one. He is lucky that he is so cute and cuddly and that I love him so very much, because some days I’d like to wring his neck. Just kidding, of course. Mostly.

You would think that Casey would be especially loving and appreciative of his mother today. After all, I brought him a bag of candy and new windshield wipers for his car…both unasked for and just because I love my son.

Yeah.

Last night, he kept poking my thighs, because they were so sore and he got a kick out of my pain.

He mocked my ability to change the headlights on my car this afternoon. I’ve done it before, so it wasn’t like I couldn’t do it again today. However, I ran into a snag when I couldn’t find the appropriate tool to remove two bolts, because my husband has decimated my own tool box over the years.

Ironically, Casey couldn’t figure out how to change his wipers. I had the first one off and replaced in about 1 second flat. Yeah, I know how to change wipers, too.

I poured myself a glass of wine while I was making dinner. Since I’m not really a wine drinker, it was only half full and I sip slowly. I still had half of my half glass left as I was eating dinner. Casey then began to mock again, because anytime I have alcohol I am automatically assumed to be drunk. Every. Single. Time.

He mocks my training, thinking that he knows more than I do, more than my trainer. He mocks the healthy food that I buy. He is always sassing me.

I’m a big girl. I can take it. I can dish it out, too. But he is lucky that he’s cute…

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