To my mom the Minotaur

First off, I must say that I admire your courage. It must be hard living in the world today as a lady-beast. Society judges, oh lord do they ever.

With that said, let's get down to business. Over the years, we've had a funny sort of relationship, you and I. You, always in your flushable office, and me, well, I am your child. There comes days when I hear the sounds of when you've exited your throne. What do I hear you ask? They are the sounds of your hooves galloping across the hardwood floors of the upstairs. At times I think "No big deal, surely it can't always be like this." Oh was I wrong. It turns out that every time I am home, you decide its time to exit the throne room and stomp around, like the wild lady-beast that you are.

After pondering for a few weeks, I determined through a process of elimination that you are in fact, a Minotaur. It only makes sense.

FACT: Minotaurs have hooves, and that's sure as hell what it sounds like is hitting the floor when you gallop around.

FACT: A minotaur posses great strength, the kind of strength that can be felt by a girl laying on her couch trying to get into a good book. The kind of strength that shakes the dishes. The kind of strength that can wake a girl out of a dead sleep, EVERY MORNING. I didnt even need to set an alarm clock to wake up in the morning. Instead I wake up to THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP. I'm not a deep sleeper by any means but I'd think it would be easier to sleep through viscously loud police, fire trucks, and ambulance sirens every night than it is to sleep through the stomping. I was lying there one morning, frustrated, counting the trips you took between your bedroom and the kitchen. 17. 17 god forsaken trips between the bedroom and the kitchen. Really? Are you kidding me? What could you possibly be doing?

FACT: Minotaurs are half bull. Bulls are aggressive when taunted. Apparently the time I went upstairs and politely made a comment about your walking, was a taunt. Thats when you got aggressive. (then again I think your always in aggressive mode.) You told my father that I was complaining about your noise.

After a few more weeks of you recklessly stomping around. I made another attempt at a civil confrontation. It failed. It failed because you stomped your way to your bedroom door, and you didnt open it cause you knew it was me. I know this because I heard your hooves clippity-clop their way to the door. Way to avoid confrontation.

Please for the love of sweet baby jesus, run down the local Target and purchase yourself a pair of hoof mufflers. I know you can run with those strong legs of yours, probably real fast! Target downtown is all of 10 miles away. Go Minotaur, go! Overcome the odds, society is watching (and judging)