Why I Oughtta...

I don't even know why I'm mad, but I'm MAD!

Boyo boy, good as heck thing it's Friday.  I'll tell ya what, Friends. 

I'm mad, and I'm not even sure what about, you know?  Do I even NEED a reason?

I s'pose if you were gonna press me for a reason why I'm so put-out, it's because I'm three and three-quarters now.  I'm practically all grown-up, but Mommy still treats me like I'm still a Little Kid or something. 

It's true.  She tells me when and what I can eat.  She's constantly all up in my face about 'Zoe, do you hafta go to the potty?' and 'Zoe, didja go to the potty recently?'  I'd like to give her the same ol' treatment, but then I'm bein' "disrespectful."

Oh, and another thing.  Whenever we go anywheres, Mommy always drives.  Never even asks me if I'd maybe like to take a turn behind the wheel.  She makes me sit all strapped in to my carseat and tries to make me feel better about it by pointing out the five-point safety harness.

"It's like the race car drivers wear!" she says.

Well, no amount of points in a safety harness on a carseat can make it cool, Friends.  You know why?  Because race car drivers also get steering wheels and shifters and clutch, brake, and accelerator pedals, that's why.  What do I get in my car seat?  What?!

I get a lame-o duster that I keep in the car to keep myself entertained, since Mommy's a wheel-hog.  Big whoop.

And don't get me started on the television or snacks.  The way I get pushed around, you'd think I don't have an opinion on anything.

Friends, the Three Year-Old struggle is real.  That's all the more I"m gonna say about this, mmmkay?  I'll see ya tomorrow.  I'm so mad, I can hardly 'Muah!'