I think the little league snack shack is the headwaters of all aggressive and dysfunctional parent behaviors in kid baseball. Could the cause be the somewhat noxious hotdog rotisserie fumes? Something evil lurks under the nacho cheese crock-pot-warmer, because I have seen it oozing it's nasty self out from between the cracks and have become frozen in terror awaiting it's molten trajectory.
The combination of salmonellaphobia and e-col-itis really brings up some personal and previously overlooked feelings in me, but I am still able to read a volunteer shift schedule. My everyday face may appear a little checked out, but this is due to attempting to calculate the number of germs multiplied by years in snack shack. This must be why the Team Mom always assumes I will not do my assigned shifts. And assigns me her shift to work in addition to my already scheduled shifts.
But I'm getting Nacho-cheese-krafty. I did not tell her I had my super-model friend covering for me last Saturday. So now that she has reply-alled about my supposed miscreant lack of responsibility, I forwarded-all to my friend who did work my shift. Let the lies be exposed!! Bwa-ha-ha!
Germs x Snack Shack = Attitude!!!!!!!
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