Do you ever find yourself staring at your parents as they interact with your children wondering just where in the hell those people came from? They certainly are not the same people who raised you. Those people meant business, they didn’t mess around, you messed up you got your ass beat, and speaking of, they considered it messing up if you flew down the stairs in one of their laundry baskets, or colored on their walls. Yet you just watched your child throw a ball and knock down their favorite lamp sending it crashing into the wall, causing a small hole to appear, and thought to yourself, UHOH you are gonna get it small child, and then the next minute you are standing there with your mouth on the ground trying to figure out if your parents have started taking high doses of happy pills since you’ve grown up, watching them with unbelieving eyes as they clean up broken glass and assure their precious grandchild that accidents happen.
How are you suppose to have any credibility when your child back talks you, or dumps 4 bottles of brand new expensive shampoo and body wash all over the bathroom floor and you tell them “You’re lucky you aren’t me, my mom would have whooped my ass for that and my dad would have had me mowing the lawn for 2 weeks to pay for the soap I ruined?”
Then I seen this and It made perfect sense:
Domesticated Breakdown 