Every day, around 3:30 p.m., my palms start to sweat and a deep seeded sense of dread takes over. My eyes get shifty and I start staring at the clock. I know what’s coming, 4:00 p.m., The Bitching Hour.
I do not know what happens in the cosmos at 4:00 p.m., but, at that exact time, EVERY. SINGLE. DAY., my kids go completely bat sh*t crazy. Crazy, like, googly eyed, psycho in a dark alley crazy. Crazy, like, contemplate running outside, knocking wildly on neighbors doors while screaming, “HELP!” at the top of my lungs crazy. I have noticed that my neighbors start pulling shades and frantically pulling out of their driveways at around 3:45 p.m.
When I go to bed, 4:00 p.m. – 6:30 p.m., haunts my dreams. I have feverish nightmares about slow-motion running while covered in leftover fish sticks and boxed macaroni they are hurling at me while laughing maniacally. Please. Send. Help.
From 7:00 a.m. to 3:59 p.m., I love my kids. At 4:00 p.m., cue Michael Jackson’s Thriller.