Verbal Diarrhea Diares: On Bended Knee

I’m in Starbucks waiting in line to order a chai latte. I happen to be standing by the fridge unit where the yogurt parfaits, salads, sandwiches et cetra are kept. The line, as usual, is long and formed a curve around.  A guy opposite me on the curve politely says excuse me and ask to look at the items in the fridge.  I’m in line, but I manage to step back a smidgen to give him a better view. When he leans over to visually scan the items and reaches out for something, the back of his hand accidentally brushing against my thigh lightly. He snatches his hand back apologizing profusely.  It’s a small space between me, the person in line in front of me and he in between us, shit happens, I wave him off ignoring him.

Not surprisingly , there’s some sort of traffic jam at the cash registesr and the line doesn’t move for a good two minutes and “shit happens” again.  He is on one knee as he picks up items and puts them back “deciding”.  This is clearly not an accident.  His friend who is still in queue at their original spot, looks at the idiot clearly surprised by his behavior. He glances at me, who is clearly about to catch a case on this mofo, and suddenly becomes interested in a spot on a wall far, far away.  So it’s like that huh? No problem.

I look down at Tweedledumb “Honey, I know I smell good down there, but from that position you either need to get up out of my way, ask for my hand in marriage or commence cunnilingus immediately, your choice.”

He turns beet red, knocking over a basket with various coffees for sale in his haste to stand, much to the amusement of those who heard me, especially his friend who called him an ass and laughed in his face.

“You sure you don’t want to take me up on the last offer?”  I ask as the line finally moves, sparking more snickering.  He quickly shakes his head in the negative and finds that same far off spot his friend found earlier.  Yes, I’m evil.

I place my order and the idiot and his friend wind up waiting together with others for our respective purchases.  I have my earbuds on, but the music is playing low so I can hear when they call my name. I can also hear Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber speaking low off to the side.  Apparently the hand brushes against me were accidental, but he wasn’t going to apologize again until he had stood up.  And while I was being facetious when I said it to him, apparently I really did smell good to him while he was down there. He was trying to decide if it was me or the fruit in the fridge that he smelled when I busted him.

I did not hear the result of his ‘analysis’ as my name was called then, but me being me I just had to have one last word. Chai in hand I whispered as I passed him.

“Your loss, I taste *divine*!”

Repeat: Yes, I’m evil.

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Slice of Life Writing Challenge

Elderhood

I was parsing out some advice to a friend a couple of days ago who then commented “Why do you always have just the right answer, Raivenne?”. Of course me, being me gave her a sarcastic and completely narcissistic, but humorous reply at the time, but it set me to thinking. It was not the first time I unintentionally found myself in the role of wizened advisor as of late and had a similar comment made regarding it.  It made me wonder were my advisors, when I have questions?

I lost one set of grandparents before I was born. I lost the other set by my mid-twenties. I have no siblings. Other than my sons, I am estranged from everyone I am related to by blood by mutual apathy. My family is the one  created from marriage and from those whose lives have intertwined with mine over the decades. Even so, my personal family is small and at this stage of my life, pretty much without elders.

Some things are irreplaceable. Recipes I never had a chance to learn, childhood pictures and family stories forever lost. Apologies that never had to chance to be given or perhaps received.

It started hitting home one day when a group of us peers were sitting around the dining room and realized we were now the ages of our parents, aunts, uncles et cetera when many of us met and become the tight-knit group we were. We are now the elders.  Back then, none of us in our early thirties to early forties lives, were ready to embrace that title. Now at fifty and one of the youngest of that core group, and having already lost a few of them -including my husband- there’s no denying it.

When my husband died, the few elders I had loved, trusted, would turn to for advice were no longer among us. Luckily among my peers in real life and one or two from the Internet a wellspring of information and inspiration was found and I happily get by and for the most part thrive on it.

Mine is an interesting sort of elder-hood at this moment. I have no grandchildren, no nieces or nephews. No immediate young family to look up me with their expectant eyes while I bake pies and look oh so wise over my bi-focal glasses. My late-husband and I somehow raised two very self-contained men who at this point in their lives are even less ready to see me as crone than I am. Most of my motherly advice, worldly wisdom -such as it’s not- goes to my younger peers. The twenties and thirties among my friends who are where I once stood 20 -30 years ago. And you know what?-that works for me.

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Slice of Life – Two Writing Teachers – Write, share, give: SOLS time

Scared of Me…

Think about this for a moment: Yes, we all know what we look like smiling and laughing, there are pictures galore of such, especially in this modern age of cell phones capturing our lives in vivid pixelation. We see ourselves disappointed, sad, depressed and even crying because we lock ourselves away for a private moment in our bedrooms / bathrooms and a mirror shows us our hurt.  We may even see ourselves in various states of tumescence.

However, we almost never see ourselves truly scared or really angry or outright furious because we are generally facing that which has made us truly scared or really angry or outright furious and rarely is a camera there to capture the moment.  If you’re about to go postal do you think anyone would want to flash a camera directly in front of you? Don’t think so.  Yes, we can imagine what we may look like from what we’re told after the fact. However, when such strong emotions occur we are rarely in front of a mirror and by the time we reach one, we are no longer at the height of that emotion to really know.

Except I now know what that type of fury looks like for myself…

Today started as your normal Tuesday morning. I was up, my bed made; I was showered and dressed for work.  I made a quick call to a friend to confirm a detail on plans for later this week.  As usual between her and me it was not quite the quick call expected.

Our conversation meandered and somehow touched on an erstwhile family member I had not laid eyes on since 1991. Let me just say, point-blank, it was under very bad circumstances when we parted ways. If I never lay eyes on that person again, it is because even the deities know it would not be good thing, especially after this morning.

So I had her on speaker phone as I stood in the mirror applying make-up. I was looking at my eyes, giving them a final check before I close the eye shadow case, when she dropped the following what if on me:

“Yes, but he doesn’t know where you work. What if your boss called you into his office one day and he was sitting there a new employee?”

Only because I was looking dead into my own eyes at that exact moment did I see it. I felt my whole being react to the thought of the scenario proposed and in a split second went from apathetic to apoplectic before my very eyes.

My pupils dilated fully and something in them… around them… behind them…

Flashed.

…And scared the shit out of me.

I scared myself so badly that the eye shadow case slipped from my fingers as I took a step back.

The sound of the crash as today’s colors hit the floor and flung out in all directions, along with my friend wanting to know was that noise, snapped me back to reality.

There was so much strength, so much power, so much rage in that one glance of myself, I shudder now as I type this thinking of it.

What there was not, was absolution. None. Whatsoever.

But what frightened me the most of the experience was the fact that my reaction was from a mere hypothetical “what if…?”

How much worse would the reality be should the deities change their minds and let it occur?

I have actually seen the evil within me start to emerge.

And now I wish I could go back to when the only thing I could do was imagine it…

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Two Writing Teachers | Tuesday Slice of Life December 2, 2013

I’ts Never “Okay”, But…

Most football fans have finally stopped cheering/grumbling/talking/ about the New York Jets win over the New England Patriots due to the enforcement of a new rule in the NFL that went against the Pats. However, an incident after the game may very well eclipse all the brouhaha over the controversial call.

Videos of a male Jets fan punching a female New England fan have gone viral over the past couple of days.  One of the videos of the altercation starts with the alleged attacker, wearing a Wayne Chrebet (No. 80) Jets jersey, is being pulled away from a fight in progress. It is not clear how the initial altercation began, but a woman, wearing a Patriots T-shirt in the videos, steps forward to confront the alleged attacker and tries to push him, before he responds with a punch to the left side of her head.

If you’re interested in more details of the event, you can Google it. This post is not about the above incident in and of itself, but about the adage that “it is NEVER okay for a man to hit a woman”.

First, let me preface all else I am about to say with the following: It is not acceptable for anyone to hit anyone. Regardless of gender, there should never be an acceptable time for someone to use violence to solve a problem. And please note that I said should. Unfortunately, we do not live in a white knight world and there are certainly exceptions to that rule.

As a mother of two sons (now adults),  I am well aware some women, safely cocooned in the belief that the man will always be considered at fault should he physically hurt her, will use that to their advantage and push, goad, provoke and/or physically attack a man.   Knowing such, I fully admit I could not teach my sons such a hard and fast absolute.

I’ll refer to men/women here because it is easier to use the hetero standard, but this applies regardless of orientation.  People have to realize not all women are defenseless and not all men are necessarily stronger than their partner. On the flip side, the physically smaller partner is not necessarily the weaker one, especially when there is any sort of weapon involved.

If the woman is yelling and screaming – let her.  You know what’s reasonable and what’s not.

If it’s starting to piss you off that you’re even thinking of doing something physical, it’s time for you to either a) leave for an hour or so to call down or b) leave temporarily and consider whether or not it is time to c) leave permanently.

However, if she’s coming at you with a cast iron skillet or a pot of hot cooked grits (some of you will get that reference), and you by that look in her eyes that tells you she means business  – what you both did so wrong that it got to that extreme point and what should be done to fix it, if it can be fixed – can be figured out later – you very much have the right to knock her on her ass, but ONLY ENOUGH FOR YOU TO GET TO SAFETY.

If your partner/significant other/spouse is beating the crap out of you, you should be able to defend yourself enough to get to safety, until the police arrive if necessary, regardless of gender.

When it comes to my sons, the only person allowed to even attempt to take them off this earth is the one who brought them into it, and I have told them as much.

Swinging this back around to the incident on Sunday…

The controversial call that that cost the Patriots the game/gave the Jets was likely the first spark to heated words between the fans.  I’m sure once all the investigation comes out; there likely were copious amount of beer involved on both sides further kindling an already contentious rivalry between both teams and their respective fans.  He (the alleged attacker) is just wrong.

  • Regardless of what kicked-off the initial altercation.
  • Regardless that she was yelling at him and even ran up and tried to push him.
  • Regardless that she was able to just shake it off.

She had no weapons and posed no physical threat to him as he was nearly twice her size.  Were this between two men, 1) this would not come up for discussion and 2) he would still be just as wrong.

As all parents tell their offspring at some point while raising them – which many seem to forget upon reaching adulthood:

KEEP YOUR HANDS TO YOURSELF.

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Slice of Life Teal
Slice of Life Story Challenge

How Could You…?

So, after some serious internet searching on Sunday, I finally saw the “Harriet Tubman Sex Tape” video by Russell Simmons’ All Def Digital that raised such a stink.  I didn’t even watch it all because all I found myself asking and continue to ask is…

How could you…?

Females in general have so few women in history to look up to and aspire to, to begin with. American historical females are much fewer and the number of American heroines of color that is even smaller still. And you take Harriet Tubman, the most courageous, the most noble of them, the most widely known black woman in history next to Rosa Parks and turn her into some antebellum Jezebel for the sake of what was presumed to be satire. No! Just no!

How could you?

To the actors and crew involved, yeah, I know… It’s just a job, and you got paid. If you did not do it, someone else surely would have. So the money might as well go in your pocket, right?  I hope you are all proud of it because this will permanently be on your IMDB page someday.  I get it, really I do, but still I ask…

How could you…?

Russell, how little you must think of the woman who made such remarkable history! Clearly, you do not respect her or her deeds.   Deeds, may I remind you, that were among the stepping-stones, which now give you the ability to create the tripe you posted in the name of humor.

What on earth made you –the collective you for all who participated in this nonsense, but you Russell Simmons specifically– think this would be acceptable, let alone funny, to the intelligent general public and to black women in particular? You didn’t.

And that is what is so appalling.

Black women here in America spend every damned day of their lives overtly or otherwise fighting sexual stereotypes.  Stereotypes placed upon us by the very type of “massas” portrayed in your little piece of jacked-up faux history.  Over a century later and we women of color are still fighting those stereotypes just so you can take Harriet Tubman, one of the very few examples of black womanhood who was above all of that nonsense, and turn her into a sexual parody.

How could you…?

Simmons, you are –well, I thought you were– an intelligent man.  There is NO way you could not have known there was going to be some backlash on this. Perhaps not as much as what you received, but you had to know. I believe this was done solely for getting All Def Digital noticed. There were so many other ways All Def Digital could have debuted to be smart, edgy, relevant, and divisive. You chose to make a mockery of Harriet Tubman.  By making her a joke of this caliber you diminish not just the woman, but everything for which she is known.

And do you want to know the real funny part? Image this video some 50, 20, 10, hell perhaps as little as two years from now. When all of us have moved on to the latest hullabaloo of the time, some ignorant racist assholes –who managed to download a copy before you had your ass handed to you and pulled the content off YouTube– will  show this to others of their ilk and pass it on as ‘historical truth’.  All because of you  thought it was something hilarious. Ha-ha, very funny motherfucker.

We need to fight not just to preserve her history and her reputation. Not just Tubman’s, but all the sisters  who have managed to make an indelible mark on our history.  In addition, to keep known for our future generations for the truths they are. Not tear them down, not desecrate their images to garner base humor.

How could you?

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See what other Slices are happening at Two Writing Teachers!

Royal Pains…

Let me begin with, I honestly am happy for Kate and William. I am glad the newest prince is healthy. I truly am as happy as I would be for any woman successfully bringing life into this world.  However, that is where my empathy/sympathy begins and ends.

I hold my hand up and totally acknowledge my desire to be the total bitch here.  You’ve been warned…

So, Catherine (Kate) Middleton, Duchess of Cambridge, had a baby…

Yay, we’re celebrating the business of royal marital arrangements a.k.a. your womb is mine a.k.a. what’s love got to do with it?

Yeah, I said it.

They had a year and a half of time to themselves as man and wife. Most of it spent introducing the new bride to the rest of the free world.  Well, as much time as a young couple can have when heirs to the monarchy of one of the most prosperous of the first-world nations that is, but eventually the honey moon period is over. Duties await and what is a new royal wife’s first royal duty? – why to be an heir making apparatus of course. Don’t kid yourself, Kate performed her royal duty to the Crown and popped out an heir as fast as not-so-little Willie could pump one in her. I’m giving them three years max before Royal Tot #2 is out. After all, there must be a royal back-up baby in case, well, you know….  Royal Tot #2 can ask good ol’ Uncle Harry about how always being 2nd best feels, once he or she gets here.

So, Princess Catherine had a baby…

So did blank.blank million other women yesterday. Are we globally Facebooking and Tweeting about all of them?  I didn’t think so.  I wonder how many of the imminent-to-be  mothers were thinking ‘Ooh my baby is born on the same day!”? Oh come on, you know some of the ones in British territories did, or they will once they learn of the coincidence.  I’m guessing the rest of the women in the world, whose contracting wombs, widening canals, separating hips and ripping perineum were likely too preoccupied.  I could be wrong.

So, Kate Middleton had a baby…

Mind you, I fully comprehend the British interest in such; after all she is their princess.  I’ll even branch it out to Europe in general as they are all nearby neighbors of the monarchy such as it is, so love thy neighbor and such. What I don’t get is the American fascination with such so that nearly every other status post in Facebook and Twitter tweets are still yapping on about the royal birth. Hmm, I wonder what Kate would about all those who are playing the baby’s birth date or weight/length and other such factoids at the numbers/lotto/horse race?

I feel as though I am the only hard-nose, heartless wretch not wearing the “Awww the prince and princess had a baby!” rose-colored glasses in this.

So Kate had a baby…  

She’s fine? Yes.  The baby’s fine? Yes.  Okay then. What’s for lunch…?

 

You WERE warned…

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Slice of Life Teal

Slice of Life Weekly Writing Challenge – Jul SOLSC #4 

Feeling Good

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I’m feeling good…

Good like the cool rain taking the heat out of a sultry day
Like the breeze causing my skirt to gently sway
In that zany, loopy fun kind of cray

Good like finding a long-lost favored ring
A walk in the park the first days of spring
On a hot day, a sip of some cool fruity thing

Good like cutting with the Little Joker in Spades
Knowing I still have the big one to be played
Hiding the gleam in my eyes behind some shades

Oh, I’m feeling good.

For I’ve  spent way too many days with my smile lying
Fake laughing to cover how my heart was crying
In a world not even close to caring how my soul was dying

And too long I let others tell me how I should be
But never was it ever what I knew I could be
So now I only work on what is it good to me

Now that’s not saying I’m not feeling for my brothers set adrift
Or lost my empathy for my sisters getting the short shrift
Or that I don’t care about our socio and economic rift

Because sometimes the world makes me wanna holla from that stress
And like Marvin I want to know what’s going on with this mess and…

Excuse me, I digress…

Where was I?

Yeah, but right now? I’m feeling good!

Good like looking the mirror and loving the sight
Whether in silks by day or leathers by night
When I know I’ve got it all together so tight

Good enough to wear a mini in a skinny crowd
Not hide my beauty in some mumu or shroud
Head high, gut forward, loud and proud

And yes, sometimes it comes to pass
That there are those who chose to lambast
For they have a problem with my fat ass

But I’m not the one that’s going to obsess
And with each bite of food reassess and…

Oh excuse me again, I digress…

I am feeling good!

Good like having a day that started with doubt
But then proving I do know what I’m about
And later catching someone fine checking me out

That kind of good that can only come from within
That sneaky good I feel when I’m about to sin
With the one that gives me more than just a grin

The good of being in the zone
When my voice takes on that tone
Like the sound of a pleasured moan

Good like when I get that feeling of that special caress
From the hand slipping slowly under my dress and…

Damn, did it again, huh? My bad… Excuse me… I digress…

But no, y’all just don’t understand! I’m feeling good!

The giddy with friends that’s fondly tolerated
The kind of good that’s always celebrated
Where those near can’t help be feel elevated!

Feeling like Joy has answered my speed dial!
Good like not a thing on this earth can cramp my style
Good like the strength of my strut, the gleam of my smile

Good for the first time in a long time I feel like I’m able
To handle the crap still left on my mental table
Feeling a  good, that’s so good, that I a poet can’t even label!

Umph –  that kind of good!

And yeah I know I can’t sing it as Nina would, but

Birds flying high, you know how I feel
Sun up in the sky, you know how I feel
Leaves drifting on by, you know how I feel
It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life for me and…

I’m feeling GOOD!

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Feeling good about dVerse ~ Poets Pub’s | OpenLinkNight : Week 104

30/30 – 30 | BOO!

My sons rolled their eyes at me as they always did when Halloween comes around.  Luckily, by their viewing at least, I do not go all out transforming the house into a holiday appropriate wonderland as I do for Christmas.  Still, every now and then I get into the I want to carve a pumpkin mood. This was one of those Halloweens were I was in a pumpkin carving, tons of chocolate and other goodies to give away, witches hat wearing mood. Now well into their teens, and knowing they are going to be dragged into it anyway shake their heads as they begrudgingly get into the spirit with me.

Thanks to such cinema sweethearts as Freddy Cruger (Nightmare on Elm Street) and Michael Myers (Halloween) faux bloody masks were de rigueur.  My youngest gets an idea and asks to borrow his father’s full length leather trench coat. Both of us being well aware of his imagination, my eldest and I look at each other part warily, partly with anticipation to see where this is going to go.

My youngest dons the coat and mask, pulls up the hood to the hoodie, grabs the big bowl of candy and when the coast is clear steps outside to stand perfectly still in a corner of the front porch closest to the front door.  He was already six feet tall by this point, thus he cut an imposing figure in the leather and bloody mask.  If any trick-or-treaters want candy, they are going to have to come to the statue to get it.

“Oh this is going to be good!” My eldest grins as we stand by the living room window to watch the scene unfold.  It takes a few minutes, but soon enough there are five or six children standing by the front gate trying to determine whether it is safe to come get the candy just sitting there in the bowl for the taking.  As always with such a group, some poor soul is goaded into being the brave one to investigate.

The little boy opens the gate takes a step in and stops. My youngest does not move a muscle. I cannot see him breathe; nor blink. He is a perfect Halloween statue. The little boy takes a few tentative steps more up the path, but still no movement from the statue. He looks back at his friends who goad him on. He makes his way up the short path to the first step and stops again, trying to gauge the situation. It is taking everything my eldest and I have not to laugh aloud as we watch this unfold.

“Hey, it’s just a statue holding a bowl of candy come up and get some!” The boy yells back to his friends bravely climbing the remaining steps as the friends come running up the pathway.  The boy raises his hand to get candy and the moment his fingers touch…

“RAWRAAAAARGGHHH!”  

The “statue” comes roaring to life and scares the living heck out of the poor child and his friends.  They are screaming, running down the steps and halfway down the pathway, before the combined laughter of my sons and I make them realize they have just been had. My youngest stops laughing long enough to call the boy back and convince them all it is okay to have candy. He gives the other kids a few candies each, but lets the little boy take as much candy as he wants for being the brave one.

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Slice of Life Story Challenge

Slice of Life Story Challenge

It seemed only fair since tomorrow is Halloween, that I have at least one such story for it.
And with this, the only non-fiction story of the set 30/30 set, I miraculously conclude the 30 Stories in 30 Days Challenge on time.  It has been an interesting romp stretching my imaginative path, I hope you’ve enjoyed the stretch. I now return to my irregularly scheduled blogging.

I’ve Got The Look…

All mothers have a certain look in which their children instinctively comprehend to mean  stop and desist NOW.  I do not care how “no mannered”, “fresh”, “no home-trained” et cetera the children may be, all instinctively understand the most powerful wrath short of the Lord Almighty’s is about to reign down upon their little souls and behinds should they continue with the offending activity.

There are the mothers whose look will only work on their own progeny. There are the mothers in which the look not only works on their children,  but other family members’  children and sometimes the neighbors’ children.  And then there are the mothers. Those special mothers who can utilize the look with such force, that even the children of complete strangers will take heed.  It does not happen often, for I realize I have to be in a certain mood and the child involved must have seriously crossed my invisible line of intolerance for it to be at maximum force, but I am definitely among the last group.

That being said, while all mother are capable of that look, not all mothers have the ability or the desire to use to its full potential and that is a shame. Mothers who cannot put the fear of Mom unto their little darlings at a very early age are soon victimized by the tiny terrors they’ve brought forth unto this world.  I ran into one of those unfortunate types this morning.

I heard the mother already pleading with the child the moment the subway doors opened.

“Sweetie won’t you please sit down.”
“You’re going to hurt yourself!”
“Didn’t I say sit down, Sweetie?”
“You’re going to get a pow-pow.”

The mother did not say “Sweetie” I’m using it  instead of the child’s actual name to protect the little hellion more so than the parent.  I also cringe when parents of young children use cutesy names for things. If you are about to discipline your child, the child should fear it. It is not a “pow-pow” it is a “spanking”.  Children do not fear the cute, especially when spoken in that sing-song sugar coated speak most adults reserve just for young children. Sweetie was not that young and I’m guessing having heard such idle threats all his young life, this child was no exception.

I partially read my book, partially listened to my music and partially watched as I sat across from them.   The little boy climbed up and down from the seat, swung on the pole and yelled back at his mother in turns. Several people were giving the mother the stink eye as Sweetie ran among them nearly causing one passenger to spill her coffee and causing another to trip. Mother would apologize, yell at her child, the child would be still for all of two seconds and then the boy was off again.  Even as the train became crowded he still misbehaved, just contained his mini-mayhem to a smaller area.

At some point a woman who had had enough touched Sweetie on the arm and nicely suggested that perhaps the child should sit. Sweetie turned around, screamed at the woman from the top of his lungs on how she is not his mother and hit the woman with the plastic bat he had in his hands.  The mother grabbed the bat from him and apologized to the woman. This was twenty minutes after I first embarked and now even I had had enough. I took off my ear buds and put my iPod and the book I’m reading in my purse and stood just as Sweetie turned around and started to run.   Right on cue Sweetie accidentally ran into me. He spun around and raised his hand as though to hit me and I’m guessing that was the moment it happened.

The Look had made its appearance.

I raised an eyebrow at him and whatever he was thinking about doing, he rethought it as his hand slowly came down to his side.

“Say ‘I’m sorry. Excuse me.’”  I looked down on him.

“I-I’m sorry, excuse me.” He echoed contritely, taking a step back.  I heard someone exclaim “Daaaamn!” as I pointed at the boy and then at the seat next to his mother. Without another word exchanged, he picked up a toy that was on the floor and sat down close to his mother looking at me penitently.  The mother looked at me balefully as though she was about to say something and I looked at her waiting for it.  She thought better of it also, putting a protective arm around Sweetie as I returned to my seat.  There was a small bout of applause as I sat down, put on my iPod and returned to my book. The man sitting next to me looked from me to the kid and back “How’d you do that? And can you please teach my wife?” I just smiled, shrugged and returned to my reading.

A chapter or so later I realized it was still quiet. When I looked across the aisle from me Sweetie was fast asleep. The mother still looked like she wanted to do me bodily harm, but I was not worried about her. A few stops later, she and Sweetie disembarked.

Someday, someone is going to be there when I give some unfortunate soul “The Look” and have his or her cell phone camera ready to capture the moment. Obviously, I have no idea what I look like when I use this unique expression, but it apparently has some mystical power in it and I would really like to see it for myself.

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Slice of Life Story Challenge

Slice of Life Weekly Story Challenge

Little Victories

For a month now my apartment has been hostage to renovations. Holes in my bathroom wall and ceiling, the entire wall in my kitchen a fond memory.  If I stand in either room and look up or down, I’m staring into a neighbor’s apartment. For the past two weeks I have had to use the bathroom of the neighbor across the hall because I have not had running water in mine. This is especially problematic at 3am when I need to do a middle of the night to use the facilities. Thrice last week I’ve lost an hour or more of sleep as I could not fall back into slumber after such.

Because dust is everywhere as they somewhat systematically replace the 100 year old pipes in each apartment on my side of the building.  Not having a sink or a stove, I have spent a ridiculous amount of money on take out during this. Buffets have become my good friend to nicely fill my belly without emptying my wallet.

Tonight I arrived home to discover they’ve reached my apartment to for more work. I already had a headache and after two weeks of this I was not in the mood to even ask yet again about the water, just to be disappointed again. But soft! What sound through yonder rooms break? Did I hear water drippeth? Yes!

The bathroom and kitchen are still filthy and looking like a Hollywood set for war zone aftermath. There’s so much work left to be done, the rooms are not getting more than a nominal cleaning until all is finished. They were nice enough to get ammonia and wipe things down. Yes, I cleaned again behind them,  I am a Virgo after all, but at long last, I have a functioning toilet and bathroom sink!

It’s a small victory, but believe you me, I’ll take it – gotta go!

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Slice of Life Story Challenge

Slice of Life Story Challenge