Rhymes with Pain

Dear nasty little boy who teased my precious son this morning,

I’m sorry your parents never taught you about feelings and that it’s not okay to hurt them. I’m sorry that someone decided a TV-kid haircut was the right look for you. Clearly, the hair has made you angry, as it should. I mean, if I had to choose which was more horrible: white-guy dreadlocks or Ricky Schroder’s Silver Spoon hair, I’d say it’s a toss-up. That still doesn’t excuse you for chanting Pablo, Pablo, Pablo until my son PAOLO cried, you little shit. Forget feelings for a second, here is why your ridicule was out of line. I looked you up: your name is Tayne. TAYNE! So you can just shut it. I suppose the combination of your stupid name and your stupid hair is punishment enough, but I’d like to remind you that you don’t need both kidneys to live.

Love,
Me

P.S. See you this afternoon!