My mother said that when I was a little kid, my terrible twos were truly terrible.
Where my brother was an absolute well-behaved saint, I was a holy terror, and she broke a kitchenware store’s supply of wooden spoon on my ass from all the spankings.
However, the beatings happened long after my twos, and more often for my mother’s transgressions, not mine.
Many years later, my parents came to Texas to manipulate and blackmail me into supporting them.
I disowned them both.
If my terrible twos were terrible to my mother, then my terrible fifty-twos are a well-deserved nightmare.