I am an American living in the Dominican Republic. I tell you this so that you may understand the impact of your supreme lapse of judgement, the degree of your dishonor. So that you may understand what I am about to tell you.
When we moved to the Dominican Republic, I knew I would be giving up some very important things: being near our families, a real home, a childhood for our kids like the one we grew up with. We weighed the positives with the negatives. I knew our kids would have a totally different childhood experience than the one both Husband and I had, but some things would be the same. They'd have to be. I'd see to it.
Some traditions would remain.
Those traditions are sacred.
But instead of Rafaella walking around with her bucket that we had bought her before she could even understand what the hell that damn bucket was for... you swiped it, Swipey. So instead she trick-or-treated with a plastic bag from La Cadena.
Let's me be very clear. You will probably never read this. But I know who you are and so do you. I asked you if you found that bucket as you tapped out the french fried crumbs that my 2 year old daughter had just finished eating - the bucket that her toddler hands set down and that her toddler body walked away from because that's what toddlers do - and you, a grown man, lied. And I know you lied. You lied straight to my tradition-heart-broken-face when I asked you. And then you took the bucket and washed it out. Liar.