I don’t need no stinkin’ advice.

This is for the parents who mistakenly believe that I am in need of their unsolicited parenting advice. Welp, I’m not.

But Vida, you say, are you so narrow minded that you can’t see when your kids need help? Nope. I just don’t want help from these groups of people (who seem to feel very comfortable just handing out advice):

1) Hipsters. Yeah, I know it’s easy to rag on hipsters. Because no one likes them. I daresay they don’t truly like each other because they are always trying to out-hipster each other. I’ve seen it happen, and hipster fights are pretty funny. Hipster parenting advice, however, makes me want to do murder. And quote B.A. Baracas while doing it.


Example: I’m telling the Weirdo that he can’t have a donut at the store. Unfortunately, the bakery is right next to the organic food section. This very organic looking lady comes up to me—uninvited—and suggests that I explain to him all of the horrible ingredients that were in said donuts and then he would decide for himself that he wouldn’t want that yucky donut. I looked at her like she just talked bad about Oprah. And I’m so petty, ya’ll, that I stared at that lady while buying the Weirdo that donut. She looked at me like I just talked bad about Oprah, turned up her nose, and took her vintage reusable bags elsewhere. Yeah, heifer, just worry about being a good parent to little Elmer or Mavis or whatever that kid was. All I saw was hair and high-water corduroy pants.

2) Tiger Moms. Okay, so I have to admit: sometimes I wish I had a little more Tiger Mom in me. Even if it’s just so that my kids are successful enough that they never come back after they move out. But Jaysus, sometimes it’s all a slacker mom like me can do to make sure my kids have on matching shoes. (That’s right, I said shoes, not socks. Socks are negotiable.)

Example:   I am picking the Weirdo up from school. He is developmentally disabled and is in speech therapy. He is trying to tell me about the fascinating day he had at school (they had kiwi for snack! Kiwi! How exciting!) And I am trying decipher what he is saying. The Tiger Mom stepped off her pedestal for a moment and deigned to tell me, “Ignore him until he slows down enough to tell you what he has to say.” Then she got back on her pedestal to continue being a better parent than everyone else in a fifty-mile radius. What do I do? Do I thank her facetiously, or do I get a little ghetto, which is something I hate to do because there are only about ten Black people where I live, and four of them are in my family? As I have previously stated: I am extremely petty. I calmly told her “Thanks for your advice. I think your daughter is crossing the street without you.” Satisfying, so very satisfying it was watching her dash out into the street in her Burberry heels. The only thing that would have been better is if Hipster Mom had hit Tiger Mom with her electric bike.

3.) Ghetto Moms.  And I’m not just talking mothers of color, either, or even moms who are a little bit hood—like I am. I’m talking the smoke-while-I’m pregnant-cuss-at-my-demon-spawn-without-actually-doing-anything-close-to-discipline-I’m-25-and-able-bodied-yet somehow-on-disability ghetto mom. These people always want to tell you how to get money from the government for your kids, without ever actually talking about parenting in anyway. This may be because they refuse to parent, and therefore don’t really have anything to do. Look here, LaQuavia or Brandeelynn, I’m not taking any advice from anyone whose children’s names have punctuation. Or if the child is named after a brand of liquor. (Poor, poor Ali’Ze Hennessy.)  I don’t have an example for this one; I have far too many examples.  I will not subject you to any of them.  You’re welcome.


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