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Katie P. is what Santa leaves in your stocking if you are really, really bad.

She's six. Six-year-olds are bad at listening, paying attention, following directions, and sitting still. Katie is extra bad at these. She excels at whining, crying, screaming directly into grownup ears, and punching me in the ass. Hard.


Hey kids, we're having cookies for snack!
9 out of 10 kids: YAAAAAAY!
Katie: I DON'T WANT COOKIES I WANT ICE CREAM OR AT LEAST YOU COULD GIVE ME THE GOOD KIND OF COOKIE THE KIND WITH PINK FROSTING AND IF IT DOESN'T HAVE PINK FROSTING I WILL NOT EAT IT AND YOU ALWAYS GIVE ME YUCKY THINGS TO EAT AND BESIDES I HATE YOU AND I HATE YOU AND YOU'RE MEAN AND I HATE YOU. (punches me in ass.)


Hey kids, let's play tag!
9 out of 10 kids: Oh joyous day! Let's!
Katie: FIRST OF ALL I DO NOT PLAY TAG SO WHY ARE YOU EVEN ASKING. YOU ARE A MEAN JERK AND I HATE YOU. PLUS YOU DID NOT EVEN ASK WHAT I WOULD LIKE TO PLAY, YOU JUST ORDER ME AROUND ALL THE TIME AND I AM GOING TO TELL MY MOM AND THAT'S WHY I HATE YOU I HATE YOU. (punches me in ass. cries.)


Katie is a drain on my day. She is my least favorite. Her constant presence in my Daily Evil logs does not mean I am trying to ruin her life - it means she is BEGGING for bad things to be done to her.

If you're expecting me to give you a poetic, emotionally-charged turnaround moment in which I suddenly realize that gosh darn it, Katie and I aren't that dissimilar, and I'm really very fond of her deep down - sorry. All kids have their pros and cons, and I'm generally a forgiving person, but I know my arch-enemy when I see her.

Katie P. is not my Valentine.