When I was about four years old I vividly remember standing with my dad at a pie shop in Arkansas. He was craning his neck to see the menu for what seemed like an eternity and I wanted a damn drink of water. I tugged on his jeans trying to get his attention over and over again but being somewhat immune to my whining by that time, he ignored me. So positioning myself in the prime spot, I kicked him in the shin. Hard. While this got me a nice swat on my little behind, I at least got the drink that I wanted. To me it was mission accomplished.
A recent college grad with no one to show my shiny little diploma to, I have decided to return to my days of being a four year old when being a brat to get what I wanted was at least somewhat accepted. I vow here and now to kick life in the shins as many times as is needed to get that perfect writing job, substantial paycheck, or new laptop. Life will be so worn out by the time I’m done with it it’ll have to give in. And I won’t even mind enduring a swat on the butt to get there.