Whether it’s a 2000-mile family road trip from hell or a five-minute dash to the store, kids in the backseat bicker. Constantly.
As a parent, your blood pressure spikes.
And then you get irrational.
“One more word and your mother will sing a Celine Dion medley with her shower voice for the next 25 miles!”
“Get along or I’ll post that baby picture of you two naked sporting shampoo mohawks and hugging on both your Facebook Walls!”
“Remember that chili-cheese dog your dad ate at that gas station? The window lock is engaged, and on my signal, he napalms your squabbling little asses.”
“You kids ever see Thelma and Louise? Because if I hear ‘poopy head’ again, I will find a cliff.”
“As God as my witness, the next smarmy, grimy, bearded hitchhiker I see thumbing a ride is going to be sitting right between you two asking to share earbuds for the rest of this trip!”
“Stop it! Or so help me, you’ll have to sort and fold the entire Duggar family’s socks!”
“if u send 1 more mssge cmplaning about yur brthrs foot odr i will cncel yur txting plan!!!”
“Hit your sister again and your father and I will engage in an incredibly sensual and awkward public display of affection while picking you up from your next important social function! There will be tongue, I promise you.”
“That’s it: Mommy’s getting her Taser.”