Leaving Home

I don't leave home much anymore, now that I don't have to. Each time I can be bothered to go out into the real world I'm reminded why it's just not my thing anymore.

On Sunday I was woefully lacking beer and cigarettes, so I was forced to make the big leap out the front door to right that wrong. It was a gorgeous sunny day in the low 70s and a slight breeze. Pretty much the ideal weather for any decent human. I barely noticed as I quickly made my way down to my little corner store. It's literally little - ideally there should be no more than one customer in there at a time. Unfortunately I happened to get there while some vacuous mother followed her cute little kid around the store as he got in my way at each area I needed to get at. This woman figured I was so enchanted with her fucking kid's cute presence that the fact I couldn't get to anything I needed to purchase in that place was really no big deal.

See, I don't have anything to eat here at home and I need a break from the only place I like to order delivery from. So... I wanted to get a few staples along with the beer and smokes. But... I didn't get the food I needed thanks to this fucking kid,. I almost caused him gross bodily harm when I opened the refrigerator to get my beer, and I was so flustered by it I almost forgot to get cigarettes. All the while the fucking mother is babbling at the fucking kid as he got in my way, "oh, no, you're too young for beer! you want milk!" "oh no you can't have candy, you can have crackers!" "oh isn't he just the most precious fucking kid!" GOD!

I'm sure if I ever have kid(s) I will be very much in love with them. But I have the presence of mind not to project that upon the general public, for jesus' tapdancing sake. If that had been my kid I would have removed him from the tiny store while the nice pretty lady does her shopping. I mean, she didn't even buy anything!


Epilogue (August, 2008): Turns out the lady and the fucking kid are the owner's wife and son. Who knew?! Just found this out when I was there two days ago and the owner was staring far too intensely below my tits but not quite at my crotch. I caught his eye as this was going on and looked down as if perhaps I'd forgotten to clean my belly button. As he blushed, he asked what the hell my belt buckle said... right as the wife and fucking kid walk in the door.

This I respect: before anyone said anything, the owner points at my belt buckle (my awesome Stevie Wonder cool neat-o) and tells his wife he was caught staring inappropriately at my nethers. She laughed and gave him a bit of a tongue-lashing in the same breath. Interestingly, she's Asian, he's an Arab, so we shared a common language (English has its place) and I could figure out what the fuck was going on. And the fucking kid is cute as fuck. Fucking kid....