Someone said this to me recently and I found it both hilarious and honest. The truth of the matter is I couldn't be more hormonal if I tried....
Here's the thing I've decided that it's not my doing. These moments arise and bring out the hellion in me.
There was Wal-Mart. First, I pose a question: Is there proper etiquette for the self-check-out lines? I happen to believe there is. When all the stations are being used you form a "general admission line" (i.e. you stand sort of centered between the two sides. one behind another.) and when the check-out station becomes available you approach, check-out, pay and then it becomes someone else's turn. Simple enough...right? Hmmmm...not so much for this man I'm going to refer to as Baldy. Well, Baldy didn't see things the way I just presented them. His take on it was line up behind the person checking out and call your dibs from the very beginning. I was in line behind another gentleman who asked him what he was doing & explained what proper etiquette consists of. Baldy said that if he'd like he could just go ahead of him but that he wasn't going to do it that way. [Enter Vanessa from behind] Are you serious? You've got to be kidding me? Could you be more rude! After sizing me up and realizing that I was just some loud pregnant lady he scoffed & turned around. If I could have I would have kicked him, right at the knee from behind and enjoyed his slow & ultimately painful descent to the ground. No. Such. Luck.
Upon exiting and making the trek back to my car there was a car starting to reverse out of there parking spot. Clearly, they saw me because they stopped...for a moment that is and proceed to continue to pull out of there spot. I in turn stood there: hand on hip very matter of factly expressing to them my disgust for lack of the respect for pedistrians...i.e. me. In my mind I pictured myself doing the Karate Kid jump this time on the trunk & not the hood as in the movie. I'm not sure what I would have done after that. I didn't get that far in my montage...LOL! I definitely would have kicked some butt though.
Then there was my mother. She kept me waiting for an hour and fifteen minutes! I had a plan to get the furniture moved around and be in front of the t.v. watching kickoff at 7:00. That. Didn't. Happen. When I do finally hear from her she doesn't even address the fact that I've been waiting all this time for her. This is where I turn into a sobbing mess. And after using my fine tuned scare-tactics I'm left in my house alone struggling to just push my nightstand out of the way. Enter more tears. Just seconds later I SOS for help, talk to my mom, get the furniture moved & watch Georgia win. Kinda like a half-hour episode of Full House...huh?! LOL.
Moral of the Story: To know me is to love me :)
twenty-three days to go! XOXO