I know that as the adult that often I’ll be called upon to be the bigger person when certain situations arise. Today one of those situations arose. Unfortunately, I didn’t take the high road. In fact I got to Scotland about 3 days and 4 hours before ye. See, I’m at the Krogers and have my cart full *and* my zo-loft prescription, and I’m ready to check out when SURPRISE, my card expired at midnight. I had to unload everything (including the much needed prescription), find my car in the oddly full lot, and then head home, call and activate my new card, return to the store – your typical pain in the ass scene, but not something that would normally yank my panties up my crack, ya know? Except today I’d also dealt with tantrum from my oldest (which I am soooo going to blog about later), and two chocolate syrup fiascos with my youngest because my middle-est couldn’t be arsed to put the syrup back in the fridge. Twice. (I now have a great big chocolate stain in the dead center of my living room carpet as well as the dining room.) In summary, I was pissy.
Anyway, I had to return that cart full of stuff and find my car and as I’m nearing a 3 way stop in the Kroger’s parking lot some trendy, young, slutty bitch with realllly cute hair, totally cut me off. I’m not sure how to describe it. She totally avoided her stopsign by cutting diagonally through parking spaces and flew straight in front of me, without even a sideways glance. Thank God for my catlike reflexes is all I have to say. So, naturally, I laid on the horn and she totally flipped me off. Here’s where I honestly thought, “Oh no she di’in’!” and totally came to a halt, rolled down my window, flipped her off and yelled, “Eat my shit you fucking moron.”
I know, way classy! That’s what I came up with?
She of course, called me a bitch. So I whipped my van around to where she was parked, rolled down my other window and yelled, “I’ve got kids in here, and you fucking cut in front of me without even looking.” (Which, okay, I didn’t have the kids with me, but I could have. And besides, I have tinted windows, so for all she knew the whole damned thing could have been filled with circus clowns.) She called me a bitch again, but I notice she did not get out of her car. I left her with a scathing, “Learn to drive, idiot,” then went home to activate my new card so I could buy the fruit platter I’d promised the church cookout.
So on the drive home, I start wondering what in the world had taken hold of me, because Rose does not have parking lot rage, and while I’m not one to back down from people too often, to tell some girl (maybe she was 20?) to dine on my feces? What exactly had I accomplished with my meltdown? I’m pretty sure I didn’t teach her anything. (Dude, I cut off this old, fat woman in a mini-van once. You don’t never want to do that. Dem bitches is crazy!) I’d crossed a personal line. I reallly needed my zo-loft.
Also? I really wish I’d come up with something better. Maybe next time.