🚗 AITA for Demanding a Car Ride While Protesting My Car Seat Like It Was Made of Betrayal Foam?
By James, Age 3 (Drama Leader, Certified Breath Victim, Lap Justice Advocate)

Hi. It’s me. James. I’m three years old and emotionally turbulent. I love car rides. I romanticize them. I yell “LET’S GO ON AN ADVENTURE!” with my arms raised like I’m in a toddler action movie.

But today? Today things got complicated.

I wanted a ride.
I demanded it.
I wore shoes (wrong feet, but that’s beside the point).
I brought my stuffed dog named PuppyDog and ole trusty Blankey.

But then—THE CAR SEAT.

I do not vibe with the car seat.
It is restrictive.
It is plastic tyranny.
It mocks me with straps and injustice.

I tried negotiation:
“Mom, I ride free. I sit on lap. Like gentleman.”
She said, “Absolutely not.”
I screamed, “THIS IS A CAGE FOR BABIES AND I AM WILD.”

Then Jack entered. Calm. Judgy. Already buckled. Breathing with ease.
Except—he was breathing MY AIR.
I could see it.
His inhale looked smug.
I screamed: “MOMMY HE’S TAKING MY BREATH!”

Mom said, “That’s… not how breathing works.”
I cried harder. She buckled me in like I was a thrashing spaghetti pile of grievance.
Jack whispered, “You’re being dramatic.”
I yelled, “I AM THE DRAMA.”

The car rolled. I sobbed through three songs and declared I would “NEVER SMILE AGAIN UNLESS WE HIT A PARADE.”

So… AITA?

For:

• Wanting a car ride but not the containment unit that comes with it?
• Rejecting safety as a concept because I value freedom and angles?
• Accusing my brother of air theft?
• Throwing PuppyDog, my emotional support dog, at the passenger seat?

Or am I just a passionate commuter trying to live boldly in a world full of buckles?

I may be tiny.
But my fury is full-sized.
And next time? I call shotgun.