Sometimes We All Have Bad Days...
The tale of an enraged senior citizen.
The glitter paper is on sale for $2.99 a roll. There is only one left on the shelf; understandable since they make the cutest gift wraps and are a hit on Pinterest. My granddaughter helped me start an account—SO FUN! A young blonde spots this coveted item and slowly gravitates toward it. Her irises are dragged to the outermost edge of her eyes, observing me in her peripheries, anticipating my next move. Her arm lunges and extends toward the roll until I bash her chest with my cane. She wheezes and assumes something like the fetal position as she shakes uncontrollably on the ground.
“THAT WAS MINE AND YOU KNEW IT! DON’T FUCK WITH ME!”
The store halts to a standstill, mouths agape as if a burglar busted the hinges of jaws open with a crowbar. Fortunately, I carry a bag of freshly baked snickerdoodles in my purse for these types of occasions, which definitely don’t happen often. I pass them out to each individual in the store, smile at them, and invite them to this Tuesday’s bingo night at the community center. Peace and order have been restored.
The cops arrive five minutes later and arrest me on my “fifth instance of assault.”
For a follow up piece: does she ever need to like throw the snickerdoodles out there (vs giving them out one at a time)? Like, do things ever get so bad that you have to kind of spray the peacemakers out there quickly?