Friday, May 21, 2010

The Assassin is Cranky

I did some moseying around WalMart last night getting some soil to re-pot a plant I just received as a gift.  Here lies a dilemma.  I like plants, but I seem unable to sustain their lifespans, because instead of a green thumb, I appear to have some sort of black diseased stump.   Anything that photosynthesizes wilts and expires after a few days in my company.   I'd like to think I have another digit that's designated for babies and small children and that maybe it's supposed to be is all about sustaining and nurturing tiny, wrinkled pink humans and turning them into ripe, rosy-cheeked, successful, productive, perky adults with gay abandon.  But on me, that finger is also black and diseased like my cold, dead heart.   Because that baby is not, was not, will never be, MINE.

Because I'm a terrible person who likes to do things and go places and be impulsive and sleep till 10 on a Saturday.   I am a rebel who hates cartoons and Disney and toys all over the floor and reading bedtime stories.  I am a person who ENJOYS cursing.  Babies are not part of my life.   And I like it that way.

I avoid babies and children avidly.  For their part, they seem to know this and radiate towards me, evilly, like little satellites.   And WalMart seems to be ground zero for nemesis baby-related mayhem.   Every time I go there I'm accosted by shrieking examples of tiny, cranky humans and every time I go there I seem to be having my special "lady time" which makes this all the more enjoyable.

Did you know there's a spot at every WalMart, (usually, according to me, it's in the parking lot directly above your car although a friend of mine claims it's between the push-up bras and the fake leather handbags) where a giant light floods down from above and the Hallelujah Chorus can faintly be heard, sung by a choir of angels playing harps?  If you are to avoid the severe stress and teeth gnashing induced by a wide range of tantruming tots slamming carts into your ankles with drunken abandon, you must find this spot and get directly under it, in order to redirect the rays of severe crank exploding all around you.

And immediately drive home and drink some tequila.

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