I’ve just spent 600 dollars. Yep 600 happy ones.
What did I get for it? Sweet diddly squat. Nichts. Nada. Niet.
Why would I do such a thing? I mean, why not spend $600 on a sorely needed new wardrobe (the clothes, not the space in which to hang them)? Or some sorely needed new computer software to help me in my creative pursuits? Or on delicious, delightful, divine trees for my garden? Or on a few nights away? Or on books, books and more books? Or on stationery, or on cooking classes, or on haberdashery that I will never use or movies I’ll never watch or diamond encrusted knuckle-dusters to beat the living daylights out of the stupid old bat who cost me the 600 bucks in the first goddamn place?!
Why? Because of one ridiculous moment and the gross overreaction of a dumbass, that’s why.
Common scenario – leaving the shops (too late) with a car full of groceries. Blossom screaming her head off for some arbitrary reason (as babies do) and Little Lion roaring back at her with wild accusations that she (at 7 months old and with an acre of car between them) had stolen his water, had touched his hair, had hurt his hammer and had, God forbid, smiled at him. In the melee, Mother was heading rapidly toward a melt down.
We stopped at the traffic lights. I turned around to give LL one of my best in my saved-for-special-occasions angry voice. He was lamenting the loss of his water bottle and I spotted it, just beside his car seat. I reached with my Go-Go-Gadget arm (does anyone else still refer to him?). I twisted and stretched and…
BUMP – the car stopped again, rather curiously.
Next thing, a crazy fat old bat starts peeling herself out of the car in front of me, gesticulating wildly.
I open my door to escape the screeching only to be struck by:
“YOU HIT ME! YOU HIT ME! NOW WHAT AM I GOING TO DO? YOU HIT ME! WE’LL HAVE TO PULL OVER ! GO STRAIGHT THROUGH THE LIGHTS! STRAIGHT! DON’T YOU DARE DRIVE OFF, DO YOU HEAR ME?! OH! OH! WE HAVE TO PULL OVER! YOU… I… OH! WHAT’S THE DAMAGE? WHAT’S THE DAMAGE?”
Sweet fucking lordy lord, the woman was insane. And the ‘damage’ was two pin-prick scratches off her bumper that I cannot guarantee were not made by flying fucking rocks a few goddamn light years ago. The thought to just drive off would not have normally crossed my mind, but since she suggested it…
Bloody conscience needs to learn to shut the fuck up. If I’d have driven off I would not only have saved myself the $600 excess, but the 15 minute ordeal of listening to her have a bloody coronary.
“Oh, I never. I’ll have to call my husband. I don’t know what to do. What are we supposed to do? Shall I call the police? Oh, this has never happened. I’m panicking…” No shit, lady. You ever had screaming kids and melting ice-cream in the back of your car? Give me the pen and I’ll give you all the bloody details you need to commit highway robbery of the first degree.
And to cap it all, the moment I slammed my door on the hysterical woman, the kids stopped their screeching and Little Lion, in his most convivial tone said, “Bye bye Lady!” and waved cheerily through the window.