Honey likes memes with cats, puppies, and rude phrases which stretch the patience of the narrator, who generally perches over her shoulder quietly tsk-ing.
The narrator is concerned about the way caustic emotion seems to erode Honey’s traction on life and grammar.
Honey writes about her predicament:
Tore up? Wat ya mean tore up? I din tore nuthin’!!!!
It was you that tore stuff you bleeping bleep.
Your the one who tares stuff!
Honey, your spelling and grammar are abysmal, chastens the narrator.
Honey looks dumbstruck, not because she doesn’t want to tear into the narrator but because for some reason she can’t .
She blinks at the narrator. Why can’t I cuss you out? She asks glumly.
Well, it is my magic powers of narration. A gift from the author, who, incidentally finds your mad swings at communication tragi-comic. Would it kill you to write “you’re for you are?”