I think I may be an ass

I just spent 30 minutes writing out a blog about how I was pissed that a woman at after school pick-up today swooped in and "cut" in front of all of us sitting in our idling cars, patiently waiting in a single lane for the bell to ring and our kids to be released, and  how she decided to go up to a break in the front of the line where there were NO PARKING cones placed out and park there anyway.  All the rest of us sitting in hot cars would have loved to park there, too, as it is the closest parking spot to the children.  BUT WE HAVE COMMON COURTESY AND ABIDE BY THE RULES.  Apparently she thought that we are all dumb asses who didn't know that we could park there.  You know... where the NO PARKING cones were.

But then..... I read it and decided I didn't like how it was actually me sounding like the asshole in the situation.  I am frustrated...over a parking spot?  That just sounded so stupid and petty when I wrote it out.

But for those few minutes that I physically wrote out the words and got them out of my system.... I felt instantly better and instantly less vindictive. The chances of me showing up tomorrow early to after school pick up and parking just close enough to the cones as to not allow her a snowball's chance in hell of parking there were greatly diminished.  I mean, I'm pretty sure that I won't do that.  I probably won't.  Maybe not.  We'll have to see.  Maybe I am an asshole after all.

There was a child today after school - a taller girl who presumably was in the 3rd grade as that is the highest grade at the school - who caught my attention.  She walked past my car and instantly I saw it.  The unmistakable hump of hair on top of her head.   My eyes must have been deceiving me, right? This is elementary school, correct?  But then she turned to the side and I saw her profile and my heart jumped. A little from disbelief and mostly  a lot from excitement.  This precious little child - with long, beautiful, brown, flowing hair - was wearing a mother-effin Bumpit.  Whiskey.  Tango.  Foxtrot.  I Facebook'ed my friend Fortune Cookie Junkie and she instantly asked for picture proof.  I scoured all of the kids that were there that I could see, but there were also a slew of parents added into the mix by this time and so I had lost her and there was no picture to be had. But I swear with everything I am ... this child was wearing a Bumpit.

**Disclaimer time --- I recently purchased a Bumpit from the clearance rack of Walgreen's.  I have been wondering what all the excitement over it was.  When I brought it home, Audree asked me if I was going to look like Snookie.  I told her that I hoped that I didn't but that we could try it out on her to see how she looked first.  SHE looked like a mini-Snookie so we have not touched it since. There would be no way that I would let my child wear that crap to school.  It is actually still sitting on the bathroom counter top in it's lonely box with a giant yellow clearance sticker across the front.  Eventually, I will move it to the bottom of the linen closet where it will be placed with all of the other snap purchases that I have made but just can't get rid of.  (Handy Travel Steam Iron for your clothes, anyone? It apparently did not matter to me AT ALL when I bought it that we rarely travel anywhere other then to our parent's houses in San Antonio and we aren't exactly eating out at the Ritz when we are there, if you know what I'm sayin'.) (And I think you do.)