Hormonal Bull - September 12, 2012

Never mess with a premenopausal woman during PMS.  You mess with the bull, you get the horns.  Okay, I’m not really sure when I’ll hit menopause (could be 5 or 15 years), but my hormones are surging, I am raging; I can feel my blood pressure rise and I’m not even connected to a cuff.

 

Today, at preschool pick-up, my daughter climbed into the car and as usual the first words out of her mouth were, “Mommy, where are we going today?”  And, of course, her teacher was helping her in, so I had to pretend we were going somewhere.  I’m not sure why this seemed like a necessity, but I always like her teacher to think I’m introducing Babyface to new things and taking her on exciting adventures EVERYDAY, which is nearly impossible to maintain with my sanity intact.  Somehow, I felt like I needed to have a better answer than, “we’ll be pirates and search for treasure,” but in the confines of our own living room.  “You will search for a treasure that mommy hides, while mommy writes about you and pretends she’s steering a ship.”

 

Instead of telling the truth, I stupidly spit out, “we’re going to Trader Joe’s.”  (Like that’s somewhere new and exciting)  I had nothing to buy from there and I didn’t want to deal with going, but somehow that just came out of my big, fat mouth.  When you tell a preschooler you’re going somewhere, whether it’s a park or even a grocery store, they NEVER forget it.  If you said it, then you MUST follow through or there will be a lot of follow-up questions or a lot of tears.  So, off we went on a journey that would tip the scale of my sanity, on a journey that would make we want to scream at the top of my lungs, on a day that I just should have stayed home.

 

Today, every person who doesn’t know how to drive decided to grace the road surrounding me.  80-years-old and legally blind?  Come on out and go for a drive.  18 and still think talking on your cel phone while driving is legal?   Come on out.  Love to test your brakes at every stoplight?  Come on out.  Your turn signal is broken or you’ve forgotten how to use it?  Come on out.

 

Finally, we made it to the store; we grabbed a basket (I say “we”, because my daughter had to hold it with me for about 5 minutes) and headed in to buy only two things.  There is a Trader Joe’s multiplier of x10 for me, so that meant 20.  It meant I should have grabbed a cart because my basket would soon be overflowing and my arm almost out of its socket.

 

The school must have slipped Babyface some sugar because she was running circles around me.  She also kept standing behind me, trying to pretend she was hiding, causing me to turn around and around, every few minutes.  It was probably like watching a cat chase it’s tail.

 

I was looking at the cheese, when I heard, “Excuse me, SIR.”  I was the only one within a 10-foot radius.  Some teenage girl thought I was a MAN from behind!  And, I thought being called “Ma’am” was horrible.  I am short, petite and I had a bun in my hair, but I look like I MAN?  I think I channeled Bette Davis because she literally RAN away from me, after I turned around and looked into her eyes.

 

I picked up my twenty items (every item expires tomorrow or the day after that because that’s the kind of day I’m having) and managed to keep my child within eyeshot.  I grabbed the bag after checkout and reminded Babyface that she would have to hold my hand, when we entered the parking lot.

 

I looked carefully both ways to cross over to our car.  That’s when some jerk in a beat up and unwashed (we’re talking two years here) car decided to back up to get a spot someone just walked to.  He had backed up 4 car lengths and almost hit my daughter.  This is NOT a hormonal exaggeration, either.  I basically dragged my daughter, quickly, out of harms way.  Yes, my tight hand holding probably saved her life.

 

I shouted, “What the HELL are you doing?  You almost hit my 4-year-old!”  I quite nearly socked him in the face.  He replied, “Oh, sorry, I see that now.  Peace.”

 

Peace?  There is no peace to be found here.  You almost hit my daughter for a parking space.  Is your rear view mirror broken?  Or, would washing your rear windshield be enough?  Is there a Trader Joe’s emergency you need to get to?  Almost hitting my daughter involves no simple “sorry” or “peace”.  You better be SO apologetic that I hear you MEAN IT.  You better be so damn apologetic that you’re on the verge of getting down on your knees to prove your point.

 

I screamed again, “You almost hit my kid.  It’s not like you were walking and almost bumped into her.  You almost HIT her with your CAR!”  And, of course, there was silence.  He ignored me.  So, I let out an F-bomb right in front of my kid.  I let out an F-bomb so loud that they probably heard me at Target across the street.

 

After we got settled into the car and headed home, we hit a construction zone and waited 15 minutes to make a U-turn.  Welcome to my day.

 

 

  1. Sorry all the dicks decided to come out while you were out today. Glad your little one didn’t get hit. Order takeout and have a couple of wines. It’ll be better tomorrow :)

    Comment by Molley Mills — September 12, 2012 @ 3:46 pm
  2. Well, I forgot to buy the wine when I was at Trader Joe’s. Figures! :)

    Comment by Mommy Unmuted — September 12, 2012 @ 3:57 pm

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