Sunny Memorial Day morning, kids waving flags, families walking to the parade, you careening down Elm Street in your sunglasses and straw hat in your navy blue mom-mobile. It's Memorial Day, it's hot. I'd donned the requisite shorts and sandals and was schlepping across the street to buy my train ticket for Monday. Mind you it's hot and swampy and I hadn't had any coffee.
I'm crossing the street and unknown to me I must have delayed you in your pursuit to get Junior dropped off because you edged next to me and when I looked to see if you were going to graze me with your mirror you shouted "YOU DON'T LOOK THAT GOOD." WTF?! Are you kidding me?
I'm sorry, was it my strutting across the street in my feather boa and over-sized sunglasses that set you off - oh wait, that's right - I wasn't wearing one, or strutting, or doing anything that remotely deserved your wrath and snarky comment. You Stepford freaks put on pearls and St. Johns to drop your tots at preschool. You're in 3" heels to do your grocery shopping. Don't act like I was some sort of primadonna using the zebra crossing as my own personal catwalk to impede your transit. Admit it, your daily routine probably consists of little more than being in a hurry to go nowhere.
I missed a connection with a couple things that day - the time to tell you that while I may not look that good I certainly look better than you, you menopausal Botox-laced breeder and/or (because either would have worked for me) a hot cup of joe in my hand that I could have hurled through your open window and sloshed all over your mommy & me Lilly dress and newly lasered face.
Listen, I’m sorry if your husband kicks back three cocktails on the metro north bar car just so he can put up with you and your ME-ME-ME kids. I’m sorry that little Sally is chubby and will never be as popular you’d like and that Jimmy has acne and throws like a girl. Get over it, get your own life and stop taking out your misery on pedestrians.