Monday Dare: Shivving the Tooth Fairy

Every Monday, I’m picking from the list of Things to Do, Places to Go, Possible Acts that Help and Possible Fun to Have. It’s a list I made before The Project started, and I’m still adding to it. If you have suggestions, please feel free to throw them my way. I’m calling the list my Monday Dares, as I get overwhelmed just looking at the words “challenge” or “goal.”

This week: I will stop tricking my child.

Cal refuses to part with her baby teeth. Every time she loses a tooth, she attaches a note inviting the Tooth Fairy to look all she wants, but to leave the tooth…and her dollar.
Instead of complying last time, the Tooth Fairy left this note along with a single penny.
Cal is now demanding that we look up the contact information for the Toothministrator in Region C, District 5D. She wants to lodge a formal complaint.
It’s time. Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy are all getting whacked this week.

hippity hop bing bang willy wally straight pimpin’

I like you. If you’re going to spend the week being aggressive, here’s a tip:

DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT try to get your point across by throwing in slang. Does it sound hip? Does it add a little punch to your retorts? Does it make up for all those years of looking uncool in the schoolyard? Sure, but only if used properly.

I have limitations.

Am I going to open that jar of sweet midget pickles on my first attempt? Probably not.
Am I going to remember to pick up my kid from school every day? Probably not.
Am I going to use “true dat,” “owned,” and “to’ up” correctly in the heat of the moment? Probably not.

Tuesday afternoon, my car notified me that I had approximately 10 miles left before I would need to get out and start walking. I drove to the gas station down the street.

Just as I was about to pull into the only available pump, an older man in a silver Porsche (top down, of course) careened in from nowhere and took my spot. No, the spot didn’t have my name on it, but I was only 10 feet away and clearly aiming for it. Gas station etiquette, people. It’s what separates us from the animals.

I parked uncomfortably close to his car, got out, and calmly but firmly stated, “Excuse me, SIR, you took my spot. I’m not going to ask you to move, but next time, have a little courtesy.”

Old Man’s reply? “You look sweet.”

That’s Old Man Code for “bless your heart,” right?

By this time, he had already started pumping, so I walked a little closer.

Me: You think you just owned me by taking this spot, but you can’t own me. You can’t even rent me.

Old Man: That makes no sense.

Me: Be glad I’m such a lady, or your face would be to’ up right now. True dat.

Old Man: Who the FUCK are you trying to channel right now? It’s not working for you.

Then, he stopped paying attention to me and finished pumping his gas. I went back to my car and waited… ’cause I still needed gas.

An Old Man schooled me in slang and I got owned.<—I’m pretty sure I used my slang correctly there.

From a lifetime of Uncool…to Fool, thanks for sharing my journey with me this week.
___
Look guys, I think we need to do some kind of roll call. If you participated in this week’s “Be aggressive” pledge, please respond below with at least a brief “Here” so I know you’re still out in the free world. If I don’t hear from you, I’m going to take it as a sign that we need to organize a bailout.
photo via knockknock.biz

Monday Dare: i hope jail beds are comfortable

Every Monday, I’m picking from the List of Things to Do, Places to Go, Possible Acts that Help, and Possible Fun to Have. It’s a list I made before The Project started, and I’m still adding to it. If you have suggestions, please feel free to throw them my way. I’m calling the list my Monday Dares, as I get overwhelmed just looking at the words “challenge” or “goal.”

This week: Don’t be passive. Don’t be passive-aggressive. Just be aggressive. 

In case there’s been any confusion, I just want to get one thing clear.

I speak English.

I mean, not the real good kind that teachers and parole officers use, but I know enough to get by. Especially at Cracker Barrel. Show me a Cracker Barrel menu, and I will show you a woman who can perfectly pronounce and utilize at least 32 different phrases…as long as they start with with the word “country.”

Never been to Cracker Barrel Old Country Store? That’s okay. Just order the Country Dinner of Country Ham or Country Fried Steak with two Country Vegetables (I would recommend the Country Green Beans). Watching your waist? Then, the Country Chef Salad is right for you. Vegetarian? Then, order the Country Vegetable Platter.

Too bad the woman in line behind me at Bed, Bath & Beyond last week didn’t ask about Cracker Barrel.

Perhaps I was a tad preoccupied with the merchandise near the register while waiting to pay for my humidifier replacement cartridge-
Oh snap, a ring holder shaped like a cat’s tail? Genius!
PedEgg comes in pink now? Oh no they didn’t!
Snuggies for dogs? Hallelujah!

I didn’t hear the woman mumbling behind me. Clearly, this made her angry. She came into my periphery and asked, “Hello, do you speak English? I was asking you a question.”

Staring ahead, I said nothing.

This pissed her off even more. She turned to a woman in the next line and whispered loudly, “I don’t think she speaks English.”

Still, I said nothing.

I said nothing because I hate confrontation. I said nothing because I didn’t have a clever retort. I said nothing because I’ve been teaching Cal to be mindful even when others are behaving badly and to not engage, if possible.

Fuck it. This week, I will speak my mind, even if it leads to a throwdown. Please start saving for my bail. And some band-aids. And some corn nuts. They soothe my soul.
picture via wildemoon shop @etsy.com