Monday, August 29, 2005
I know life must be really hard for you. What with being a redneck, barely literate, overweight, and married to Cletus the Slack-Jawed Yokel and all. But why can't you just keep your misery to yourself, lady? Why must you hurt others? All I wanted to do was pick out a damn greeting card. I was minding my own business and was in a pretty pleasant mood until I encountered you. Then you had to go and ruin everything.
First, I know the birthday cards are filled with hijinks and hilarity, but reading every single one you pick up out loud is a little unnecessary. Second, asking your husband's opinion on each one, is a little unneccesary as well (especially as he was very busy staring blankly into space, drooling, and doing his best to ignore you). Third, if you have a crying baby, why not see what's wrong with him? Why ignore him and make other people suffer? He might have a dookie diaper (which I could smell, by the way) or be hungry. My guess is he was probably crying because, at even such a young age, he was bemoaning his destiny, what with the ticking time bomb double-helix of DNA you provided him with at birth that ensures he will grow up to watch NASCAR in his double-wide, drink Milwaukee's Beast, and scream "Get 'ir done!" at every opportunity.
But I was in a good mood that day, and for the most part could ignore all this, since I knew my time with you was short-lived. Until Cletus turned around and saw that you were about to run over me and said "Lookit huuuunnnnnyyy..." and pointed at me. Then you, MENSA reject that you are, turned your head in the OPPOSITE direction in which he was pointing to look toward him while you pushed your FULL buggy and crying baby right over my foot (which wouldn't have been that bad had I not been wearing flip-flops). And when I howled in pain, you turned to look at me with such surprise, asking "Whassa matter with you girl?" I felt something insiude me snap a little at that point. My response, I'm sure, was shocking to you.
"What's the matter with me??? Bitch, you rolled your goddamn cart over my foot!! You knew I was standing here, and then you act surprised when you push your buggy back and hit me? Didn't you feel that speedbump which was my FOOT when you did that shit? I swear to GOD, lady, do us all a favor and put that kid up for adoption TODAY so he'll stand a chance in this world and he won't have the horror of having grown up under the care of two hillbillies like YOU!!!!!!" The big round "o" of shock that your mouths made was funny to me until it turned into a snarl of anger, and I'm sure things would have escalated if the nice young Target employee hadn't come up and offered me a chance to save 10% on my purchase today if I applied for a Target VISA, which I guess provided me with the easiest opportunity to escape you. I hobbled up to the express checkout cash register with my mangled foot and got out of there before you could try to catch up and wreak more violence upon me. It's too late to save me, but please redneck lady, change the kid's diaper and don't hurt anyone else.
Love,
Legal Bitch
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