Today was one of those days that had me teetering on the edge of sanity. Thanks to my repugnant hormones, the family is lucky I didn't go all Mom-Hulk on them. Julian whined about dinner, he was horseplaying and broke my candle warmer, Cora wouldn't nap at all today, I bled through my pants at the library, I burnt my arm on the oven, and both kids are rioting in their beds as we speak. But in spite of all of that, I have to stop and remember that we are raising them to be decent kids.
I was raised that one of the worst offenses in this life is being a douche bag. My brother, gauges, tattoos, and all, is one of the most polite kids you would ever meet. Don't get me wrong, he can be a butthead. But he will hold the door for every old lady who walks past. That is what I want for my kids. Julian may complain about dinner, cry when he loses his privilege of riding the horse at Meijer, and throw a tantrum on the floor at the library because I have to put the library books in the bag, but by Joe, that kid is kind to everyone he meets. I guess that is why I have zero tolerance for dill weeds I meet in public.
Yesterday was a day like today. So, when my friend asked me to meet for coffee, I happily obliged. I needed a minute to be a ladyadult and not have a kid summoning me every time the peach fuzz on my buttcheeks skimmed the couch. So, she came and picked me up and we were grown-ups.
It was mostly empty in the coffee shop. There was a woman up front, the batista, an Emo teenager, and us. We ordered and sat at a two-person table that happened to be next to wannabe Pete Wentz. He was listening to angry scream-o music out loud on his phone, rude. We were annoyed by the music but knew there wasn't really anything we could do. He strolled over to the barista and we realized the two were most likely dating.
As he walked away from us, I realized he had full tat sleeves. I am super into tattoos so, imagine my nerdy squeals of delight when I realized he had Spiderman sleeves; I was borderline giddy! As he came back from his attempt at mating with the barista, I asked, "Hey, are those Spiderman sleeves!?" He confirmed with a slight head nod, his black hair nearly covering his eyes. I clasped my hands together in excitement and asked, "Can I see?" He immiately pulled down both sleeves, looked me dead in the eyes and said no, as he walked back to his table without missing a beat.
I looked at my friend, she looked at me. "Maybe he didn't hear you?" She said. I told her he said no, and she exclaimed out loud, "HE SAID NO!?" I could see the kid peeping at us from under his hair, obviously impressed with himself for shutting an old broad down. The rest of our time there, he gave us the side-eye as he continued his attempts to woo the barista.
I would say that I'm all about private things staying private, but you all know that's not my style. With that being said, I would like to think that I do a decent job of respecting other people's privacy. However, if you want privacy, DON'T GET FULL SLEEVES ON BOTH ARMS! Why would you get artwork tattooed on your body with the expectation that it will remain private? It's not like I saw a tramp stamp peeking over the hem of his jeans and asked him to drop trou. The day I get a sleeve (yes, that is the plan), is the day I prepare to share my interests with anyone who has eyeballs. No salt necessary. What if there is a day I don't want people looking me up and down with their judgy judgement? It's called long sleeves!
The moral of the story is, there was no reason for that dude to be a big turd blossom. The day my kids treat someone like that, especially someone older, is the day they get smacked upside the head. Maybe he was self-conscious? Maybe he thought I was being salty? Maybe he was just a douche. Whatever the case, with my hormones set from stun to kill, he's lucky I didn't go all Indiana Jones on him.
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