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Bratchild has it in for me? Also, the 1569th-1571st reasons I can’t go anywhere

April 6, 2010

Bratchild, never one wanting to be left out of anything, now seems to have it in for me as well.

I will actually say that bratchild has ALWAYS been an exceptionally well-behaved child, even at her worst she’s still better than lots of kids. Probably because we have rules such as if you act awful in public-we leave. Period. And she likes to go places.

But lately she’s had a little bit of an attitude, just being snippy when she responds and testing out to see what she can get away with. Personally, I blame Hannah Montana and those damn Zach and Cody twerps. I keep telling her they get paid lots of money to be obnoxious, she does not.

So Friday we were in The Pink Pelican and she was fine. Played with the shop’s dog, tried on clothes, tried to get me to buy her a Lilly Pulitzer Easter basket-which even I thought was excessive. She was chatty and polite, how she is most of the time.

But yesterday we had to go back because I have been DYING for these two dresses and wanted to see if they could order them for me:

 

Anyhoo, they couldn’t and so I emailed Lilly Pulitzer (the company, not her directly obviously) and was informed by a man named Jack (which made me giggle because all I can envision is “Just Jack” working at Lilly Pulitzer which would be terribly appropriate) and JJ informs me that the second dress is not available because “they chose not to make that selection in that size this season but there are plenty of options.” Right, so  “that size” was a 14 and they make most things up to a 16. And yes, I’m aware that there are plenty of choices as I have purchased quite a few for my daughter and I but I want THAT one. So now I think they are sizeist and I haven’t responded to my new friend JJ yet because I don’t want to make him cry. Which in my current state of crabiness, would pretty much be a given. Not convinced? Read on…

ANYWAYS..at the store bratchild was touching things (our rule is touch with one finger or with your eyes) and just not being super cooperative. I believe I threatened to strangle her to death and to break her leg off and beat her with it-you know, the normal things. As we were leaving I noticed this god awful stench radiating from her cute little self. Turns out, she had sprayed herself with perfume. Like, lots of it. I am immediately in a state of utter distress. Scents are one of my fastest migraine triggers. There are very few perfumes I can wear and stand to smell. Chanel no. 5, Lolita Lempicka, Lolita Lempicka Eau De Corail, White Linen, and Pleasures Light. Most others make my vision go wonky, my head feel like it’s about to explode, and necessitate laying down in a cool, dark place before I expel the contents of my stomach all over my surroundings. Lovely, no?

As we are driving home I literally make her hang her upper body out the window (she was still strapped in people. No need to throw things at me or bitch about how I’m a terrible mother.). I am ready to collapse with ginger ale and meds on the fainting couch in my closet room, leaving J to handle getting her to dance and fixing/picking up dinner. EXCEPT, poor J feels like ass because he had to get his shots for cholera, west nile, anthrax-I actually don’t know what all-so he can go to Iraq for a month.

Fine. I’ll take her. He’s always so sweet to us and NEVER complains, much to my constant amazement, so I decided to suffer thru.

I get to her dance school and I realize I need to pay and get a letter allowing me to purchase tickets for her recital. Isn’t that nice of them? Not only do I have to pay various “recital fees” I get to purchase tickets and I MUST have a letter from them to do so. I get that they are trying to weed out the pervs and while I appreciate that, they need to tell me these things in advance so I don’t throw out the letter they mailed me. (In addition to not answering the phone, or the door unless I know someone is coming, I also don’t read mail and actually leave it in the mailbox unless it looks fun. Want me to open your mail? Put some glitter on it.) Honestly, it was a challenge to even write the check since everything was spotty by that time.

So when I went back to the car, I was crabtastic and verging on homicidal. And, of course, some asshole parked their car so close to mine I couldn’t open the driver’s side door and had to crawl over from the passenger side. I was actually in between the lines so evenly it looked like I had measured that shit to the inch before I parked.  Luckily, since I’ve been carrying around reporter’s notebooks, I had paper handy to leave them a note that read:

“Thank you for parking so that it was practically impossible for me to get in my car. XOXO to you asshole”

For some reason, I decided that in light of my current mood and murderous tendencies I should go to Target to return something. Cause that doesn’t piss me off on a regular day.

There’s one lady returning something and I’m all yeah! She doesn’t look stupid and there aren’t 5 million people trying to return stuff without a receipt, or trying to bring back rotten meat they forgot to refrigerate for 2 weeks. After I get in line, 4 other people hop in behind me.

An excruciating amount of time passes, the lady is pissed, a manager is called. The clerk was not in the register and was just staring at the women. Didn’t offer to help who was next, just stood with his thumb up his ass, waiting on the manager to waltz over after 4 and half minutes. I’m livid. FINALLY I realize the woman is trying to return gift cards that have the codes scratched off on the back. Really? Do ANY of you not know you can’t do that? And who returns gift cards? Just regift them! She’s fighting with them and on their third explanation I finally exclaim, “I get that she’s an idiot, but should we all have to wait in line and suffer because of it?” The manager looked shocked and one person behind me applauded. I’m glad SOMEONE appreciates me.

I get into my car, next to a woman in a giant Sequoia (no, I never recognize cars. I had to make extra sure I read the back of it so you all would have the full picture. The lengths I go to for you guys.) She’s on the phone. Okay, fine. As soon as I turn on my car, she decides to back out-IN HER GIANT LAND YACHT WHILE STILL TALKING ON THE PHONE. After THREE failed back-up attempts and pulling back in, the crazy biatch is STILL on the phone. Really? And the way she is maneuvering, I can’t get around her. Exasperated, yet thankful J refuses to allow me access to a handgun, I roll down my window and motion for her to do the same, just so I can say: “If you are not capable of talking on the phone AND driving, I suggest you give one of them up. I don’t particularly care which you choose, just fucking pick one so I can leave.”

I relate the tales of my crabbiness to J who has nothing more to say then this: “Well, that stuff would have pissed you off even if your head wasn’t about to explode and it’s not like it would be the worst thing if you get banned from Target.”

Really?!?!

On another note, does anyone know what is on the necklace Nurse Jackie wears? I think it’s a pyramid but I am blind.

© Amy Lloyd Mayfield and Amy’s Blam, 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Amy Lloyd Mayfield and Amy’s Blam with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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10 Comments leave one →
  1. April 6, 2010 8:30 PM

    Almost peed myself. You are too funny. Sounds like something I would do, but Bre usually reigns me back in before I get out of control.

  2. April 7, 2010 3:42 AM

    I just popped a sympathy Xanax and now I am going to go lie down and take a sympathy nap because lady, my head may explode. Also? I totally would have appluaded you too. At least – in my head. And probably on Twitter too.

  3. amyblam permalink*
    April 7, 2010 7:03 AM

    She wasn’t with me since she was at dance but normally she giggles when I get upset.

  4. April 7, 2010 7:33 AM

    I’m pretty sure we’re twins who were separated at birth. I would have been homicidal at that point too. In fact, I would have been homicidal the very moment I realized my child stunk…

  5. April 7, 2010 9:59 AM

    I felt like I was right there with you! I totally blame iCarly for my kiddos mouth (because I never am sassy). Why would they not make that dress in a 14…that is a typical size…losers! It is a cute dress!

    On other random notes…I feel like people should be given a test….if you are buying a big car, you must be able to park it WITHOUT being on the phone, one time. I am so tired of people not being able to park their big ass cars w/o 25 attempt and then still not making it in the lines. I have nothing against big cars but seriously, be able to drive it. OK, sorry for the ramble!

  6. April 7, 2010 3:46 PM

    First things first, you sound just like me when I am ill, cranky and just being a plain bitch. Dumb people irritate the crap out of me. Women drivers who can’t drive do the same too.

    Secondly, the first dress looks just like you. Love it.

  7. amyblam permalink*
    April 7, 2010 4:18 PM

    I firmly believe that people should have to pas IQ tests to drive, shop, operate a stroller, have children-the list goes on and on…
    I can’t find EITHER of them in my size-I’m very sad. I don’t know if the first one was made in a 14. I’m scared I’ll ask and be pissed and make my new friend JJ cry.

  8. April 10, 2010 6:15 PM

    Just jumped over from the Ultimate blog party. Your blog is rock star! I totally get you.. .

Trackbacks

  1. The Anvil Tree » Why Some Sorority Girls Might Actually Go Buy a Purple Jeep and Try and Kill Me
  2. Why I am mad at Target. Again. « Amy's Blam

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