It’s been a while since I’ve had to bitch about my douche-bag-baby-daddy, Courtney the Platypus; but in true form, he’s back after 3-4 weeks, like a bad case of herpes.
First, let me explain why he is now being referred to as a platypus. My brother, in his infinite wisdom, pointed out that this “man” (and I use the term very, very loosely), has very few redeeming qualities.
“When God created the platypus, it was like it was a big joke to Him,” said my younger sibling. “It was like ‘Hey, I got some left over duck, squirrel, beaver, otter, mammal AND reptilian parts, let me see what happens when I throw them all together’. And voila! We have a platypus. That’s what it was like on the day Courtney was born.”
So what did he do this week? Sit back and grab a Coors Light. This is mildly amusing and greatly annoying.
As I’ve said before, Douche Bag dragged me to court early this spring to fight for his visitation “rights”. After very politely asking him what 2 weeks in the summer he would like to exercise said rights, he has come up with all manner of excuses as to why he cannot keep the child he is 50% genetically responsible for creating for 2 consecutive weeks per the court action he initiated. These have ranged from a planned trip to visit his infant sister’s grave in “Buffalop” during the summer, to alleging that I said it was ok for him to split up the summer, to plans to attend a job training program that’s going to make it ‘difficult’ for him to keep her for 2 weeks in a row. That was a month ago. As of yesterday, this tr3 (ask your local Ghanaian what ‘tr3’ means) tried to use my daughter’s plans to go to summer camp to circumvent his 2 week responsibilities!
A few hours after she was dropped off at school, I get a call from his number. I, of course, ignore it. I don’t speak retarded wildlife. I text him back to ask him what’s wrong.
Nothing! I just want to see what Na’s summer plans are, if she’s going to camp and how much it costs.
–It’s 2 weeks of day camp, $350.
Do you want me to pay for half of it?
Can you call me back? I’m driving to Bama right now and don’t want to text and drive.
–Text me when you’re not driving.
We can’t talk?
Ok. What are the dates?
-I told you over a month ago that I need you to confirm the 2 weeks you are keeping her so I can pick the dates.
Look!!! That’s why I’m texting u! Trying to work around ur schedule, but if u gonna be mean about it!!!
*Uh?!!* Did this niggro really just raise his voice at me over e-comm?? I take 30 minutes to regroup and say:
–Fine. She’s not going to camp.
Malaka! I just trying to meet u halfway. We don’t have to be friends. But let’s try to get along for Nadjah.
-No one is trying to be your friend. All I want you to do is follow the rules you put in place.
And that was the end of it. I still don’t know if “ok!” means ‘Yes I will finally man up and stop being a little punk whore and keep her for 2 consecutive weeks’ or ‘I be back with more bull to see if I can pull the wool over what I assume are your stupid African eyes’. Ans how is he meeting ME halfway when I clearly need nothing from him? He can meet me half way at a little town called Piss Off is what he can do.
When will this insanity end?!?!? I hope he wrecks and dies on his way back from Alabama.