Number of times kid woke me last night, screaming, scared, or needy: three

Number of times spouse work me last night, snoring: three

Number of times cat #1 woke me last night, kneading kitty bread on my all-too supple belly: two

Number of times cat #2 woke me last night, yowling to go outside, totally ignoring the eight year precedent as an exclusively indoor f–king cat: two

Total times some other creature woke me last f–king night: look, I got an A+ in calculus at a pretty prestigious University, but I can’t even add right  now. And does the number really matter? I am the grouchiest (what is the right word? “bitch” has too many connotations that my anger and frustration are misplaced because I’m a woman which is false [the misplaced part not the woman part…as though there is a “woman part”]; “a–hole” connotes that I’m less shitty today because I more puckered; and “motherf—er” just doesn’t work right for so many reasons…let’s try again) the grouchiest shell of a human this side of Alaska.

Aaaaargh!

I think I need a career as a pirate. Those f—ers get some respect.