Forgive me Father for I have sinned. It’s been more than a coon’s age since my last confession and I’ve been a very, very wicked girl. Should I start with the coveting? Or maybe just jump in with the First Commandment and work my way through all ten? Father? Are you there? Oh. Wait. Strike that. This is my diary.
Dear Diary,
I had to run to the Walmart earlier. Yeah, I know. It really sucks that the only stores we have in Podunk are Walmart, Safeway and Basha’s. If I didn’t have to pick up some new sheets for the kid’s new bed, I’d avoid the place like the pending H7N9 bird flu invasion. Anyway, as I was escaping the bastion of debauchery, I crossed paths with a 20-something guy, jawing away on his cellphone while pushing his cart mindlessly, obviously not paying any attention to the world outside of his iPhone.
In the seat of the cart was a babbling little toddler girl, evidently mimicking her daddy. It was all cute, sort of, until he cut me off and I caught a whiff. Nothing is worse than a shitty diaper, especially when it’s not your kid. Thank goodness I was almost to the doors of freedom and I could clear out that vile, reeking smell from my nostrils. That should be on the list of sins against the Ten Commandments; Thou shall not allow your child to sit in a shitty diaper as you wander the aisles of the Walmart, ignoring the stench and plotting your party plans on your cellphone. Forget the 5 Hail Mary’s, go straight to hell.
After I mounted my steel steed, I pointed the Dodge to the McDonald’s for some lunch. Nothing like a stinky diaper to put you in the mood for fast food. Finally making it to the order board, I placed my request for a chicken BLT salad and a large sweet tea with extra ice. I got my total and rounded the bend to the pay here window. I handed over my card and the waited for the go ahead to proceed to the next window. The red shirt opened the window to hand back my card and inform me that, for the third time in as many visits, they were out of salads.
Seriously? If you know that you are out of salads, AGAIN, why do you insist on running my card? And then ask me to choose something else (usually at a lower price) so you don’t have to half ass attempt to refund my card before crying for the manager? If you’d give me this helpful bit of information when I ask for a salad, then I could cancel and hop on over to Burger King, that ALWAYS has fresh salads available. Yer really making me wanna give up the clown for the king. Now I will make it a priority to order a salad and demand a refund just to be a bitch before driving down the road to my newest salad destination.
You know, diary, some days it just doesn’t pay to leave the house. After I finally got my damn salad and returned to my humble abode, I realized I forgot to run the rest of the errands on my friggin’ list. Damn McDonald’s pissed me off so bad that I got distracted! I inhaled my salad with such vigor that even a wolf would be proud and again headed out to roam the streets.
Small Town Pet Peeve Number 1: If you live in a small town and you see someone you know, is it REALLY necessary to block the road with your cars as you catch up on the latest gossip? You can’t just pull over and let those of us that do have shit to get done pass by? Asstard!
Small Town Pet Peeve Number 2: How is it possible that every one of the 12 Mexican restaurants within city limits serves the worst Mexican food I’ve ever had? I’ve asked around and it seems that it’s always been that way. Everyone complains about the food but they keep going back. WHY? And it’s not even the Mexican restaurants. Jerrry’s Diner has food so bad I wouldn’t even feed it to a pack of starving coyotes. I guess because we’re 2 hours away from any gastronomic competition, they figure they can serve shit at caviar prices. Makes me wanna get a degree in culinary arts and open a foodie heaven. Because I’m compulsively passionate about food.
It’s been so long, I dunno if I’d know how to use one!
Well, diary, I guess I should wrap this up and get yet another sink full of dishes washed before ‘He would thinks he should be obeyed’ comes home and starts barking orders like he runs the place. Ha. Little does he know! And what the hell is up with the lack of dishwashers in rental units around here? I’ve got such a bad case of dish hands that I could sand English Oak without sand paper. Til next time!
