I'm a fresh meat right out of the oven. Served hot and a little bit...hard.
Damn these little monsters. At 1.30pm, or 3.30pm most of the times when the doorbell rings, for a fallen soldiers, my spirit is crushed. Except they aren't fallen soldiers, these are my unmanageable little monsters screaming at high tone, running through the entrance.
Between 2pm to 6pm, I feel like jumping off the floor, hailing the Death from hell, or the Angel, if it willing to take me to heaven, as my love for the little children is quite limited.
I have stopped to shout and scream my head off. But my glare and stare or the ï'll-be-watching-you gesture definitely scare the shit out of them. Save my energy too.
I once try to understand them. But they crush me every time. Mission impossible.
