by Miss What's-Your-Name-Again?
Dear “Littlest Tyke,”
I understand that you do not speak English because, as I learned upon arriving at my assignment today, “Littlest Tyke” actually translates to: you’re a freaking baby. I know that, upon arrival, you took an immediate and entirely deserved dislike of me. You sensed that I neither understand nor appreciate babies and this concerned you deeply, as it would any individual faced with someone who appeared to regard them as a drooling, nonsensical savage.
Below, please find my apology for being the worst sub you’ve ever had (but don’t worry, you have plenty of years to experience worse.) I post it in the hopes that perhaps you can read better than you can speak (which would mean you can read any tiny little thing, at all,) or that you know a grownup who can speak Baby, and translate for you accordingly.
1. You appear to have some sort of mutually understood game that you play ALL THE FUCKING TIME, and that is the “Let’s Put Shit in Our Mouths” game. Now I do understand that all of the very valid reasons I gave you for not putting ALL OF THE FUCKING THINGS in your mouth lost their efficacy because, as I mentioned earlier, you do not speak English. I’m actually not sorry about any of this, except for the fact that you repeatedly attempted to shove items previously in YOUR mouths into MY mouth, in what seemed to be some sort of mutually understood assumption that I was down to play this game with you. You know what happens when you assume, babies? You make an ass… oh never fucking mind.
2. With regards to when you ripped a page out of your book and proceeded to put it in your mouth: when I asked you to spit it out, holding my hands out in what was clearly a gesture of supplication, I did not actually mean for you to spit the paper directly into my hand. Perhaps you thought I had changed my mind about the “Let’s Put Shit in Our Mouths” game and decided to participate, as you then seemed rather inordinately put out that I threw the slobbery wad of Kipper the dog in the trash.
3. I apologize for what I now understand was an overblown [and arguably embarrassing] reaction to getting your poop on my finger. I was asked by my coworker, who made the entirely fair assumption that I had some sort of prior experience with babies (joke’s on her,) to “check for poop.” I apologize for screaming “OH DEAR GOD NO, OH GOD, IT’S HIM, OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD.” Apparently there is some way of accomplishing the “poop check” that does not involve getting poop on yourself but, as I do not plan to ever engage in that activity ever again, I do not intend to learn it.
4. I’m sorry that, when one of you took the small plastic 80’s Lady from another one of you, you got bit. This, ironically, marked the one and only time I understood what any of you was trying to communicate. When the girl from which you took said 80’s Lady screamed gibberish and pointed accusingly at you, I believe what she was trying to say was: “Give me 80’s Lady back, motherfucker, or you’re gonna be in a world of pain.” When you failed to return the stolen goods, she assumed you had opted for the “world of pain” option. This could be referred to as “cause and effect.” Or “crime and punishment,” should the zombie apocalypse happen sometime in the near future.
What the fuck else is there to say? You’re babies.
Miss… why am I even bothering?