I was driving, making a right turn onto a busy street. Also, I was waiting for a woman and little girl to cross the street. The crosswalk was the kind that is a series of parallel lines.
In fact, this very crosswalk.
(I am not saying Google maps is there just so I can take screen shots of the street view to illustrate my stories but it might be.)
This woman was obviously not on her way to cub scouts (running late) like I was because she was taking her sweet time. She and the little girl were hopping from line to line. Seriously.
I just sat there, patiently. Sweetly.
The person in the car behind me honked their horn. Incessantly.
The woman turned and stuck her tongue out at ME.
Which I thought was rude. I would have tracked her down and pointed out to her that I hadn't honked at her, but waited patiently. That she did not need to stick her tongue out at me.
And also, I would have said, "What's with the jumping from line to line anyway?"
I would have done all of that.
But I needed to get to cub scouts.
In an ongoing battle of wills, I am trying to get Mark to pick a new book to read (now that he's finished a series he inhaled) that is more age appropriate and less book-of-Braeden's-that-weighs-more-than-Mark-does. I suggested Charlotte's Web. Mark said, "No way. I've seen the front cover of that book. They're all smiling. You know they're all not going to make it out alive."
Later, Janet reminded me Charlotte doesn't make it out alive. I think Mark's right, he shouldn't read that book. He is no fan of books where animals die.
Someone told the IRS that I am the worst accountant on the planet and they should send me letters and give me phone calls requesting I prove our charitable contributions for 2009 and 2010. Thank you IRS. I a) needed a project to keep me busy and b) love that kind of stuff. I called my mom and wailed to her that I needed an accountant (because she is one). She explained what I needed to do, was horrified that I don't have all my bank statements neatly filed (I requested that the bank stop sending them to me because I didn't want to file them), and assured me that the world was not ending. Moms are good at that sort of thing.
Then I realized that my mom is maybe busier and more stressed than she's been in a long time as she's hard at work sewing and preparing for her mission. (She has to make historically accurate clothes for them to wear since they'll be serving at a historical sight.) I left her to her stress and returned to mine. (And felt grateful that Marianne is helping her sew since she lives nearby. Oh, and also since she can sew. If I lived nearby I could wail about the IRS but not be much help sewing.)
Adam and I decided that we can't die and leave our children to the care of their grandmothers. Those ladies have gone soft. As part of a sting operation, several of my unnamed friends with unnamed seventh grade daughters and I have discovered that certain unnamed seventh grade girls (and in at least one case her unnamed older brother) have been supplementing their school lunch with treats. A lot of treats. A mother that was good at record keeping (see above: worst accountant on the planet) would have realized her children were buying treats. A lot of treats. But, I did not. Our children are now indentured servants until the debt has been repayed.
Both grandmothers felt tremendous sympathy for the poor hungry kids and didn't think they should have to repay but instead should be given money every month to buy treats.
I don't know about Adam's mother but my own mom saying that in no way resembles the woman who raised me.