I am in SUCH a bad mood. Everything is pissing me off and everyone is making me mad, even when they’re trying to be nice. When I do something to displease her, K’vitsh curses me with boils so I’m following her fine example. Here is a list of people who have irritated me today, plus that with which I’m cursing them.
Atlanta PO-lice officer who can’t pick one lane and stay in it, and nearly caused a 3-car wreck including me on Spring Street at 8:45 this morning. I see by the banged-up door and hanging fender of his copmobile that this is something of a habit. I curse him with sudden unpredictable bouts of projectile vomiting.
Two fat women hovering at the pedestrian crosswalk in the parking deck, who can’t seem to decide if they want to traverse the roadway or not, pretending to be content to stand around talking until I inch the car forward. Then they take a step. I stop. They turn to one another and chat. I press the gas. They take another step. I stop (lather, rinse, repeat). I’d curse them with cellulite but it’s too late. Hmm. K’vitsh is right - boils. I curse them both with boils.
Jerk at the bank who slammed a bank bag down on the counter and snarled at the sweetest nicest teller in bankingdom to hurry the [expletive] up. Nasty punk. I hereby curse him with Plantar’s warts.
Goofy-looking man (literally Goofy, it was most unfortunate) standing on the elevator who didn’t try to get off when the doors opened, but once I assume he’s riding up more floors and attempt to get on, suddenly realizes that the elevator is in the lobby, now’s his chance, carpe diem, and shoves me aside to make his exit. I curse him with a terrible speech impediment and a facial tic.
Woman in front of me at the mini-deli, who waits in line all the slow long way up to the counter, then and only then reads the quite brief menu and starts asking the counterperson, item by item, for things they do not have. “Do you have chili?” “No ma’am, we only have sandwiches [points to board] and the soup of the day which today is clam chowder.” “[Long pause] Do you have pastries?” “No ma’am, we sell sandwiches.” “[Pause] Do you have fresh fruit?” “No ma’am [repeat].” “Do you do smoothies here?” AAAAAG. I curse her with a whiny hypochondriac husband with tiny tackle.
Atlanta PO-lice officer who can’t pick one lane and stay in it, and nearly caused a 3-car wreck including me on Spring Street at 8:45 this morning. I see by the banged-up door and hanging fender of his copmobile that this is something of a habit. I curse him with sudden unpredictable bouts of projectile vomiting.
Two fat women hovering at the pedestrian crosswalk in the parking deck, who can’t seem to decide if they want to traverse the roadway or not, pretending to be content to stand around talking until I inch the car forward. Then they take a step. I stop. They turn to one another and chat. I press the gas. They take another step. I stop (lather, rinse, repeat). I’d curse them with cellulite but it’s too late. Hmm. K’vitsh is right - boils. I curse them both with boils.
Jerk at the bank who slammed a bank bag down on the counter and snarled at the sweetest nicest teller in bankingdom to hurry the [expletive] up. Nasty punk. I hereby curse him with Plantar’s warts.
Goofy-looking man (literally Goofy, it was most unfortunate) standing on the elevator who didn’t try to get off when the doors opened, but once I assume he’s riding up more floors and attempt to get on, suddenly realizes that the elevator is in the lobby, now’s his chance, carpe diem, and shoves me aside to make his exit. I curse him with a terrible speech impediment and a facial tic.
Woman in front of me at the mini-deli, who waits in line all the slow long way up to the counter, then and only then reads the quite brief menu and starts asking the counterperson, item by item, for things they do not have. “Do you have chili?” “No ma’am, we only have sandwiches [points to board] and the soup of the day which today is clam chowder.” “[Long pause] Do you have pastries?” “No ma’am, we sell sandwiches.” “[Pause] Do you have fresh fruit?” “No ma’am [repeat].” “Do you do smoothies here?” AAAAAG. I curse her with a whiny hypochondriac husband with tiny tackle.
1 Comments:
"No one can curse you or bless you like the Irish"
Way to go, darlin' girl!
mom
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Anonymous, at 10:47 AM
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