Tell Me Why... I Don't Like Mondays...

Today was an odd day in that the my freak-o-vibe was off and running... be it the overtanned (seriously, what is wrong with natural colored skin?) and lover of collagen gal at the nail salon who initiated a conversation with "Your toes are so pretty!" She also liked my hair color... and my shoes... and my skirt... "you're so cute!" Within five minutes (in between compliments) she shared all the details about her recent trip to the River (Laughlin) and how, although they always stay in top drawer hotels, they had to stay in a dump because they brought their dogs and also today was her uncle's funeral and her cousins have always hated her because she was his favorite and in case I didn't believe her a psychic in Bullhead City told her so but she wasn't counting on anything because her step father was a billionaire and he left her nothing.

Ok, my head is a little twirly after all that info so good luck and bye-bye.

Then it was off to Home Depot to buy the new washer and dryer (Maytag Neptune - cleaning is fun!) and wouldn't you know that the salesman (Hi, Terry!) had a lisp. Now, I don't have any issues with speech impediments of any kind, but, lordy, the lisp and the words. Words like, "spin cycle" and "washer" and "special settings" and, my personal favorite, "super size". I didn't laugh. Not even a giggle (I did however cough and have to get myself an Altoid because it is not only curiously strong but it can prevent a girl from being a rude cow). Also, I had coffee breath.

After successfully checking out with only a modicum of aid at the "do-it-yourself" line, I tucked my Maytag receipt into my excellent new purse and picked up the plastic bag containing the gorgeous new shower head for the children's bathroom and headed out the door. And I was followed. Followed by the helpful bag boy who wanted to know if he could "help" me. As I had only one little bag the answer was, "Nope, thanks." However, he was determined to be of service and he tagged behind me through the parking lot, repeatedly asking to assist. I finally whirled around with a big, "NO! THANKS!" only to then fall off my cute Paul-Frank-for-Dr.- Scholl sandals and thereby drop the excellent new purse and the plastic bag containing the gorgeous new shower head... and Mr. Helpful? HELP! Where are you? Help me gather my stuff, dude! Oh, there you are... skibbling away! AWAY!

Pretty much time for another cup of coffee. Starbucks, my love, my Valentine, there you are... time for a grande vanilla non-fat latte... peace is coming and all is right with the world.

Then. This.

I can remember this with an anger of it having happened yesterday. Being at toddler gymnastics (Teddy Bear Tumblers) with my boys who were then maybe 1 & 2 and a fellow mother snatching a ball out of Jack's hand with such hostility that he fell over. Did you catch that? He. Fell. Over. She grabbed the damn ball and he toppled over like a little weeble doll... only a weeble who falls. And proceeded to hand the ball to her kid and ignore mine whom in case you missed it, she had just basically knocked over. When I approached her with a, "Um, what just happened here?" She stabbed her fat sausage fingers in my face and informed me that if I had been watching my child more closely instead of sitting on the stairs with my latte then I would have prevented him from picking up the ball which her child so clearly wanted and then she would not have had to take the ball in a firm manner in order to teach him (Jack) that although he (again, Jack) was obviously used to getting everything he wanted, well. Not. This. Time. She would see to it that my child would receive some much needed serious limits.

So, I responded with something along the lines of, "Listen you stupid bitch, you ever touch my kid again, not only will I have you arrested for assault, but the cops will have to scrape your face off the hood of my car." At least that is what they tell me I said because I was, for the first time in my life, in the grips of a white hot fury. Then I walked outside and burst into tears.

And here she is... in the middle of the Laguna Hills Starbucks. Many scenarios floated through my mind... none of which are legal.

As I stood there contemplating stabbing her with a spork, she picked up her macchiato with extra whip and headed out the door. We made eye contact and in that brief moment I could see realization dawn in her beady piggy eyes and she raised her eyebrows at me and wow, here was my moment, I stuck my tongue out at her.

Hey, it was all I could come up with!

Ok, I just shared this particular story with Hugh and all I got out of him was a, "really?" and a slight chuckle. The man has been married to me for so long that hearing about my sticking my tongue out at a woman who was a bitch 7 years ago doesn't even registar as unusal...

Maybe I need to accept that the freaks find me because really, we are kindred spirits.