I want to send some special, salmonella-laced rotten tomatoes to the following people:
1. The fat old guy in the giant SUV who cut me off turning into the closest parking space at the gym today. I know he can't possibly know that i'm 4 months pregnant and carrying a toddler and a huge gym bag in 90-something degree weather.... but seriously, dude. You're going to the GYM, presumably to work off 100 or so calories of that Ruby Tuesday's slider platter you scarfed for lunch. Would walking 50 feet be so difficult?
I later saw him reading the paper while pedal-waddling at approximately .2 mph on the reclined bike, so i'm guessing that actually walking across the parking lot *was* his workout.
2. Publix, especially the dead-eyed cashier who asked me, "Did you find everything you needed today?" Because when I told her, "No, actually," and described the two items for which i'll have to trek to Kroger tomorrow (Gimme Lean sausage and mini pizzas), she just chewed her gum cud and said, "Huh, I thought we had that." I said, "Are you going to write it down or anything? Like, so you guys could carry them?" And she said, "No, we're just supposed to ask that."
Wow, super customer service, there, guys. Thanks for asking!
3. My big ol' clutsy brain, which can kick the crap out of crossword puzzles from Abe Vigoda to zithers but can't remember to hold something over the archaic blender so that I don't cover my favorite white maternity shirt with chocolate syrup and flax oil blender barf.
Seriously, pregnancy eats 20 IQ points and leaves me a slavering idiot.
4. Anyone in a vehicle 8 times larger than they routinely need. If you do not have 7 children, 2 horses, a lawn care business, or an elephant grooming service, do you honestly need a 9-seater SUV that gets 3 miles to the gallon and won't fit into the parking spaces at Target, much less the 2-lane road I have to drive every day? I am constantly finding myself playing Frogger with these coffee-swilling, cell-phone-attached pscyhos who have forgotten the function of the little blinker wand on their oversized steering wheel.
And that's why I sold my 8-year-old Civic and got a RAV-4 (which gets 20 miles to the gallon, before you point fingers)-- I felt like a mouse among well-groomed, stampeding elephants.
5. McDonalds, for dropping the McRib and Arch Deluxe.
No, just kidding. That's disgusting. Totally gross.
6. Anyone who parks in a parking space that is not meant for them. Able-bodied folk who park in handicapped spaces. 70-year old women who park in "expectant mother" parking, because something tells me you're not packing watermelons. Teenagers who park in "families with small children" parking. Anyone who parks in the fire zone to "just run in for one thing".
Or, in a similar case, the single man who came out of the "family" restroom at Ikea leaving a brown fug hanging in the air that could signal only the evil combination of Guiness, liver and onions, and dysentery. I totally loved nursing my daughter in there, once I found a gas mask.
So, behold my wrath. It's been "a day", one of those days when nothing goes particularly wrong, but nothing goes particularly right, either. I have spilled things, tripped on things, been poked in the huge bruise on my back 73 times, and will probably manage to hit the mysterious key on my laptop that erases everything on the screen right before I post this.
Right.... about...... NOW.