That's a picture of my ex-girlfriend and her delightful daughter. I think I posted this a while ago, but I'm currently too lazy to look.
Anyway, beneath that façade of the wonderful, loving mother lurks a blood-thirsty, homicidal maniac.
Case in point: Earlier today, I sent a harmless, friendly email to her to inquire about her day of office drudgery, and to perhaps see if she could, quite possibly, extrapolate on a business venture she touched upon in an earlier email. I wasn't expecting the following response:
"Good thing I'm not sitting next to you, I'd have to smack you!"
Yes. I'm beginning to think the reason she and I didn't work out is because my idea of a romantic evening does not include me curling up into a ball on the floor with my hands covering my head while she repeatedly kicks me in the kidneys.