Some People's Kids

Do you know what I love?

Getting into a "fight" at the gas station with the fifteen year old girl in the passenger seat of her mother's car, while her "mother" looks on stupidly; helplessly.

I mean, really? Control your child. Before I do.

And memo to the fifteen year old punk, throwing up gang signs as she barely peaked over the dashboard: when you learn to drive a car, you can tell me how to navigate mine.

Had you had ANY experience behind the wheel of said car, you would know that it was virtually impossible for me to pull forward to leave the pump. There was a lifted truck, an SUV and a Cadillac all at pumps in front of me. I had no choice but to back out, which was quite trying... seeing as to how the car chauferring you around town was waiting for it's turn at the pump, a mere inch from my bumper. But thank you, honestly, for taking it upon yourself to honk the horn, flip me off and tell me to drive forward. Really, that thought never crossed my mind.

I especially love how you made a spectacle of yourself as I finally freed my car from the gridlock of automobiles and drove away, getting out of mommy's car and coming at me like you were ACTUALLY going to beat me up.

Get real.

If you wanna do this, I'll meet you at the flagpole after recess tomorrow. Don't be late.