Ex-squeeze Me

Sorry about the short, cheap posts these past two days, but a weekday without Hubby around is extra hectic as I also have to squeeze in taking out garbage (and bringing in the cans even though you all know my tendency to let them roll around the neighborhood hoping they'll find their way home eventually), emptying the recycling and walking my humiliatingly still be-coned dog, into my already packed day.

A quick rant today. Why the hell can people not say "Excuse me" directly to children? I was at the grocery store today with #2 and Little Man and while on the best of days #2 meanders about like she has a bearing loose causing her internal balance to be slightly off, humming the theme song to Little Einsteins to herself, oblivious, she does respond to direct interaction. So why then, did this friggin' byotch in her velor track suit and Uggs have to stop her cart, stare at #2 impatiently, then give me the stink eye since I was taking two damn seconds to select an item from the shelf and wasn't monitoring the traffic pattern of my four year old? Well stink eye right back at ya', Carmela Soprano! Since my kid is not deaf and I'll asume you are not dumb (although dumb in the non-verbal sense does apparently apply) why don't you open your overly collagened, overly lip-glassed latte hole and simply say, "Excuse me."? I won't even ask you for a "honey" or "sweetie" since your ice-cold, Botox frozen heart probably couldn't manage that.

This happens all the time. With three kids it is impossible, lest I have an experimental surgery, to hold the hands of all my children at once. And not to toot my own horn, but, TOOT!, my kids are really well behaved in public and know Mommy's bringing the hammer if things get out of hand. And, no, they have not mastered the Western world's traffic pattern of passing on the right, they don't even know which way right is! So a little, less than straight walking is not a crime. Talk to the idiot with the screaming kid over there feeding him another Twinkie. I'm tired of people looking at me when my children wander in to their path, like my children are remote control toys and I'm driving. They have ears, they have brains! Mine also happen to have manners. Which, incidentally, are getting harder and harder to teach when they see grown-ass people not doing the right thing and speaking politely. This situation forces me to give the fake, "Honey, move over so the nice man can pass." which translates roughly to "Honey, please move over so this mannerless troglodyte can get out of out our sight."

So trashy suburban housewife (a term I reserve for the overly pampered, under educated, ridiculously entitled women I run into on a daily basis - I am not a housewife, I'm a working mother), don't think I didn't throw hate your way the entire time you walked out to your ridiculous Hummer, you stupid tart. When your little dog gets in my way the next time I'm at the park and we're on my turf I'll explain how it's payback when I kick it in the head.