Paige's tantrums often do not work when she's dealing with me. Well, I invented the damn thing. I don't know how many times I've heard my parents tell this story about me -
Anyway, I was throwing a hissy fit earlier this evening because I hated my chair. I hate the fact that it has wheels and that it keeps moving. I don't want it to move. Period. So, I was throwing a fit, nagging Erbe to cut off the legs. I know, it's a bit impossible at this hour (1 in the morning - check the picture, it says 1 am!)
Anyway, I wanted it cut and I was convinced that I could do it if only I have half his strength. I know women are uber superior to men (open to arguments of course), but I concede defeat when it comes to physical strength. Anyway, I started crying because Erbe kept telling me he couldn't do it.
Before you crucify me, you have to understand that the effing chair is Satan personified. It has been giving me hell. I have a bad case of scoliosis and it's height is compounding the pain. It refuses to stay put which irritates the hell out of me. Our table is considerably low - not the ideal table for giants. It's the fault of that idiotic carpenter and my father's considerably poor estimations. The whole thing is giving me hell - thus, the constant complaints about my scoliosis.
So, the pain is so unbearable that it drove me to throw a bitch fit.
Anyway, Erbe couldn't cut the damn thing off.
This was his best solution -
It scores 0 for aesthetic value, but it works damn well.
The chair stopped moving. Bitch fit curtailed.
Now, if only we could do something about the damn height.
"Oh, when she was little, she used to always have a stick with her. She goes around hitting everyone with a stick.Oh, yes, I invented tantrums.
And when people would refuse to let her hit them. She'd throw herself on the ground and she'd hit her head on the floor or a stone.
Her father would have to run the minute we see her throw herself on the ground, so he'd be able to cushion her head when she starts banging it."
Anyway, I was throwing a hissy fit earlier this evening because I hated my chair. I hate the fact that it has wheels and that it keeps moving. I don't want it to move. Period. So, I was throwing a fit, nagging Erbe to cut off the legs. I know, it's a bit impossible at this hour (1 in the morning - check the picture, it says 1 am!)
Anyway, I wanted it cut and I was convinced that I could do it if only I have half his strength. I know women are uber superior to men (open to arguments of course), but I concede defeat when it comes to physical strength. Anyway, I started crying because Erbe kept telling me he couldn't do it.
Before you crucify me, you have to understand that the effing chair is Satan personified. It has been giving me hell. I have a bad case of scoliosis and it's height is compounding the pain. It refuses to stay put which irritates the hell out of me. Our table is considerably low - not the ideal table for giants. It's the fault of that idiotic carpenter and my father's considerably poor estimations. The whole thing is giving me hell - thus, the constant complaints about my scoliosis.
So, the pain is so unbearable that it drove me to throw a bitch fit.
Anyway, Erbe couldn't cut the damn thing off.
This was his best solution -
It scores 0 for aesthetic value, but it works damn well.
The chair stopped moving. Bitch fit curtailed.
Now, if only we could do something about the damn height.
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