The Performance

Ugh! Not this same crap, again?

Really??

How naive do you think we are?

No, you’re not the only person in your family who can help.

You’re not freaking Princess Leia,

And certainly no Ben Kenobi.

You’re not the only hope

For whatever crisis

Your so-called “friends” are in.

You’re still pulling this stuff, long after you’ve turned thirty?

One friend moved cross country to get away from your meddling.

The other went down the tradwife hole.

Fine, if that’s what she wants,

But how many times has she insulted you? Your family?

You mothering skills? Those of your real friends?

And you STILL want to hang out with her??

She told you, to your face, you were defective

Because your bio parents weren’t married.

She told you you weren’t fulfilling your true destiny

By only having one kid, so your life was invalidated.

And you still go running back to her toxicity??

What are you doing?

What approval are you chasing?

Claiming you know more about nursing

Than actual nurses?

(Well, okay, maybe in today’s political climate,

You might have a point.)

But acting as if you’re the last best hope

When you can’t nurse your way out of a wet paper bag

Just makes you an absolute poser.

I actually took nursing classes, darling,

Did you forget that?

Predicted your friend’s early demise

If she keeps shooting crotch goblins

out of a broken salad shooter?

You have the mental medical information retention of a sieve

And the bedside manner of a pit viper.

All you do is meddle,

And you don’t even actually help.

You usually compound the situation,

Then claim heroic self-status.

You realize we all know you’re lying, right?

We all know you ret-con

Your own self-promotional status

Into a situation

You never belonged in,

And when called on it,

You completely re-write the conversation

Or the original situation.

Or both.

You’re so predictable, and fucking boring.

Yet we have to listen to you break your arm

Over and over again

Patting yourself on your own back

To prop your oh-so fragile ego.

And yet when have to put up with your droning mouth noises,

Otherwise, you take your kidlet and leave.

Your kid’s a delight-

You, not so much.

I have to lubricate my eyes heavily

To keep them from sticking

To the back of my own sockets.

Luckily, it’s prescription strength.

Too bad I can’t tell you how I really feel.

At least my friends get a kick out of your colossal cluelessness

When I relay the stories.

Till then, the best revenge:

Ignoring you as much as possible,

Developing a real, loving, relationship with your kid,

Teaching her that there are true relationships out there

That don’t involve putting you on a pedestal.

And as much as you think you deserve an Oscar

For your performative performance,

The people you consider your droid cast and crew

Should get it instead-

Because you have no fucking clue

How we really feel.