As I mentioned in yesterday's post, I do things that cause me to be really tired and out-of-sorts. Aaaaaaand possibly cause my short people to be tired and out of sorts. Which, in turn, causes me to become a little bit more sassy than I am on any given Tuesday.
There was a field trip. A never-ending, self-inflicted field trip. And it was after dinner time and I was starving and hot and I wanted ice cream so SURPRISE!!! ICE CREAM FOR DINNER!!!
We pulled into the
Blondie's parking lot, and everybody piled out of the supercool mini coopervan, and into the store. I told the short people they could order anything they wanted, but that we would be not eating ice cream in cones because we are not eating gluten this month.
Four short people did not care about The Cone Restrictions. One short person did. There's a reason why his nickname is the H-Bomb. The H-Bomb exploded into a million screaming minions. The boy at the counter was not impressed, despite my gentle parenting attempts (read: talking slowly and methodically whilst holding something that is bolted to the floor so as not to beat the ever-living out of a child). The 79th WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY CAN'T I HAVE A CONE?!?!?!?! pushed me right off my rocker.
My response? BECAUSE YOU'RE ANNOYING!!!!!!! Shouted in the exact same tone of voice and volume as the H-Bomb.
I'm not saying it was the right thing to do. But. He stopped shouting, I win, the end. And you know you've been there. (Unless you don't have short people of your own, in which case, PREPARE YOURSELF, BECAUSE YOU WILL, MOST ASSUREDLY, BE THERE.) Also, the boy behind the counter about fell down laughing, and that was a teensy bit awesome.
H-Bomb then took the road less traveled in the Dayton culture, and that is Passive-Aggressive Avenue. We will not discuss this, and will pretend that it did not happen for 40 minutes. Why? Because that is how you deal with the Passive-Aggressive, or else you will kill them.
And because my luck had run out completely by that time, everybody decided they needed to pee. Does
Blondie's the sit-down ice cream place have a bathroom? NO. But really? They do, and the nice people that work there will let you take a little girl to the bathroom when she has to pee, especially when you're outnumbered 5 to 1.
Me: My girls need to pee. I know you don't normally allow people to use the bathroom, but it's not like I can send them outside to the bushes.
Me: Really? Let me explain the effort, and the length of time it will take to get all these people to a place with a bathroom.
Him: I don't care. You can't use the bathroom.
Jack: I'll just go pee in the weeds.
Him: The girls can pee in the weeds, too.
Me: Yeah, except they can't. We try to avoid peeing in the weeds, you know, that little POISON IVY-slash-VA.G.INA combination? NOT GOOD.
Me: Can you even imagine what it's like to have poison ivy on your va.gi.na?
Him: Uh, I don't *have* a v.agi.na, so I can't relate.
Me: You don't? I bet you could find it if you looked for it. It's probably under your bed in your mom's house, right next to your soul.
And then he walked away from me. I'm pretty sure he's not going anywhere near anybody's v.agi.na anytime soon... unless he locates his, which is likely filled with crabs.