Aim for the heart
Are people getting stupider or am I becoming more intolerant?
We had one hour yesterday when my mom took O and it was just R, the twins and me. First we went to a milkbar to buy any caffeinated cola drinks we could get our baby-smelling hands on. Whilst there a woman came in and asked to change the box of cigarettes she’d just bought. Not to a different brand. She wanted a different warning sign. She asked if she could give back the pack that said SMOKING KILLS in exchange for one that says SMOKING HARMS YOUR NEIGHBOURS. She then lit up in my face. I fucking love people.
Stupidly we then tried to go to a restaurant. (This involved taking shifts eating quickly while the other person held 2 screaming babies. The bubs had just eaten but all the restaurant patrons insisted on looking over angrily and telling me to feed them.) The waitress asked if the twins were identical. I explained they are different sexes. Great, she said, now you don't have to have any more. We already have one at home, I told her. Is he older or younger?, she asked.
Forgive me for not suffering fools but HOW THE HELL COULD I HAVE HAD ANOTHER BABY IN THE LAST EIGHT WEEKS? Have I not done enough to boost this country's flagging birth rate?
Younger, I said. She was born yesterday. (Well that's the James Frey version of what I said. What I actually said was "Do you have mustard?".)
I am a misanthrope. I am no longer in the working world, the world of the mind. I am thus forced to speak solely with idiots and palookas all day every day. Are these people on crack? I would gatecrash an English literature class just to hear some intelligent discussion. Hell, I'd even write someone's essay on eighteenth century literature if they'd talk to me about something other than my breeding capacity. I've become that nasty old pervert who hangs around intelligent people trying to listen in on their conversations in the way that sex-addicts hang around whores. Talk to me about God and Death, baby. Oh yeah, that feels good. Touch me on the iambic pentameter, just there, yeah...
Shoot me. Aim for the heart. It’ll be better for everyone. Especially my poor kids who didn’t choose to have a mother who can’t cope with being at home. And while you’ve got the gun in your hand, can you take down the waitress as well? She never did bring me the mustard.
We had one hour yesterday when my mom took O and it was just R, the twins and me. First we went to a milkbar to buy any caffeinated cola drinks we could get our baby-smelling hands on. Whilst there a woman came in and asked to change the box of cigarettes she’d just bought. Not to a different brand. She wanted a different warning sign. She asked if she could give back the pack that said SMOKING KILLS in exchange for one that says SMOKING HARMS YOUR NEIGHBOURS. She then lit up in my face. I fucking love people.
Stupidly we then tried to go to a restaurant. (This involved taking shifts eating quickly while the other person held 2 screaming babies. The bubs had just eaten but all the restaurant patrons insisted on looking over angrily and telling me to feed them.) The waitress asked if the twins were identical. I explained they are different sexes. Great, she said, now you don't have to have any more. We already have one at home, I told her. Is he older or younger?, she asked.
Forgive me for not suffering fools but HOW THE HELL COULD I HAVE HAD ANOTHER BABY IN THE LAST EIGHT WEEKS? Have I not done enough to boost this country's flagging birth rate?
Younger, I said. She was born yesterday. (Well that's the James Frey version of what I said. What I actually said was "Do you have mustard?".)
I am a misanthrope. I am no longer in the working world, the world of the mind. I am thus forced to speak solely with idiots and palookas all day every day. Are these people on crack? I would gatecrash an English literature class just to hear some intelligent discussion. Hell, I'd even write someone's essay on eighteenth century literature if they'd talk to me about something other than my breeding capacity. I've become that nasty old pervert who hangs around intelligent people trying to listen in on their conversations in the way that sex-addicts hang around whores. Talk to me about God and Death, baby. Oh yeah, that feels good. Touch me on the iambic pentameter, just there, yeah...
Shoot me. Aim for the heart. It’ll be better for everyone. Especially my poor kids who didn’t choose to have a mother who can’t cope with being at home. And while you’ve got the gun in your hand, can you take down the waitress as well? She never did bring me the mustard.
posted by Yidchick at 9:01 pm
11 Comments:
Do not, whatever you do, begin to watch afternoon television.
At the risk of my very life here - this part will not go on forever. Children have been known to grow up and (blessedly)go to school.
Hang on.
If I were closer, I'd offer to load up and follow you, picking off the offenders as they approach.
Teehee. You must have amazing presence of mind not to have snapped. Would have been hilarious if she had bought the "born yesterday" line, though.
LJ, my sweet, every time I try comment on your blog I am told that my comment has been excluded by the blog moderator. Or something like that.
Anyway, love your beadwork.
Hey, is there an email address I can contact you by?
Email me at: yidchick@optusnet.com.au
Can't guarantee I'll get to it immediately, but I'll reply as soon as the little ones let me. XX
Want some assvice? Probably not, but here goes...
try getting some listening books. Then you can have some non-Oprah entertainment but still have your hands free for the kiddly winks. I buy them online at audible.com, but you can get them at the library too. Not sure if they have non-fiction at the library, but I've been getting into quantum mechanics and philosophy books lately. You can clean up baby poop and brush up on Plato at the same time!
People are getting stupider (which makes for some great blogging material).
what lin said ^^^^
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Yidchick. You are NOT "excluded" from commenting...comments on my blog "wait for approval" (mine)...which is why you don't have to type a bunch of stupid letters at the bottom (or be annoyed by spam in the comments section.)
It seems fair, you know. If I have to wait for approval, you shouldn't comments?
Thanks. About the beadwork.
Um. Is that last person who commented before this a personal friend of yours? Because I have to tell you - they've been writing me too. I thought you should know.
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