A. is playing softball this year with non school kids. It's actually kind of nice because no one knows me and I don't have to be nice. So, anyway, we're at the game Saturday and C. is running around and trips over this woman's outstretched leg. Any other mother would ask the three year old child if he was okay. Not this one. She looked right at me and gave me the "Can't you control your child?" look. So I give her the "OH NO YOU DIDN'T" look. And she gave me the ,"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU" look? And I gave her the, "THAT'S RIGHT, BIOTCH, YOU DON'T KNOW ME" look. Then she flipped her big hair around.
So, she's sitting there in her Jackie O sunglasses, tight jeans and animal print shoes, lounging in her chair, chatting to the other moms who seem to be terribly interested in her. (By the by, animal print clothing is for prostitutes and children. If you are offended because you wear them, take heed, you are being talked about). She is obviously the Queen Bee. Then I recognized her. She was that twit in my Jazercise class who talked through the whole hour. She was even reprimanded by the instructor for being so rude. I reached further into memory (as exercising was so long ago) and remembered that her son is the one C. popped in the mouth and gave a bloody lip. I smiled and hugged C.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment