My baby will have to excuse the following:
Bitch, don’t make me laugh. With your twentysomething bullshit, no aspiration having, cellulite ridden ass, I’m not worried about anything or anyone but me and my daughter. Do your immature thing. Leave me to my 6 figures, the figure I’m sure to get back after my baby is born, my house, my graduate degrees, my success and fabulousness. I’m way more woman than you’ll ever be.
And that goes for you, too!