Poppy Mom

The one in which the poppy becomes so enraged that her head shoots away from her neck like a bottlerocket

Maybe it's the heat. Or the impending holiday weekend. Or the barometric pressure, which just caused the atmosphere to implode into a sudden thunderstorm. Whatever it is, I am pissed off today, and I'm not the only one. And I've got a few things to say to some people.

To my daughter: I understand that you are a baby, and that babies often spit up. I also empathize with the fact that you have little control over this activity. However, if you could find a way, sometime before the end of the day, to cease puking down my shirt every single time I pick you up, it would be most appreciated.

To the lady who held the door for me at Michael's in Des Peres as I exited with my screaming child: Thank you. Thank you for taking a few seconds and a smidge of energy to give a flustered mom a hand. A lot of people could take lessons from you.

To the person who designed the bathrooms at West County Center : Would it have killed you to put the changing table in the main part of the bathroom, instead of creating a changing table/handicap stall ghetto?

To the employee of Manchu Wok at West County Center who jumped in front of me and my child and nabbed the handicap stall, even though you're obviously not handicapped, and even though there were five other stalls available, thus leaving my child to sit in a poopy diaper for a lot longer than she needed to: I hope you get a blistery, oozing fryer burn.

To the the employee of The Children's Place who said "Oopsie!" when a shopping bag fell off my shoulder, instead of helping me pick it up while I juggled my child, diaper bag and other shopping bags: I hope Clara "Upchuck" Jane pukes on you instead of me next time.

To the guy in the Honda Civic hatchback with the huge-ass muffler: No matter how big and loud the muffler is, it won't change the fact that it's a Honda Civic hatchback.

To the stupid-ass bitch in a big ol' SUV on Lindbergh who not only wouldn't let me into her lane (even though I was blinking) but also parked herself in my blindspot and laughed when I asked to get in: I won't repeat the horribly derogatory female-anatomy slang that I used to address you. I'll just say that I'm surprised that you looked so shocked to be addressed by that term. Considering your rude driving behavior, I would think that you hear that term on a regular basis. Oh, and by the way, here's a poopy diaper on the windshield for you.

To the St. Louis city road crews: If you're going to close all of the downtown exits, wouldn't it be a good idea to post the sign a little earlier than one-half of a mile before the last open exit? Something to consider.

To the smirking slow-poke who waltzed in front of my truck: Walk a little bit slower, and my foot just might slip and knock that smirk right off your face. If you think you're slow now, oh, just you wait!

To the fellow at Shop n' Save who opted to have his daughter stand on the Krispy Kreme display and climb into the cart instead of lifting her in: I hope you get doughnut poisoning.

To the other fellow at Shop n' Save who saw fit to stand in front of one of the self-check-out lanes while gabbing on his cell phone, thus making the lane inaccessable: I hope you, also, get doughnut poisoning.

And finally, to my brain: I apologize. It'll get better soon, I promise.

Progesterone: 2
Brain: 1

Posted by Robin at July 2, 2004 06:15 PM | TrackBack