Damn kids

I'm watching the local morning news, where they just gave detailed instructions on how to get high by huffing aerosol fumes. I have two comments:

1. Slow news day?

2. Thanks for the tips! I don't think I've been getting the maximum Aqua-Net bang for my huffing buck. With these new tips and tricks, I hope to at least double my huffing brain damage. Thanks, Fox 2!

(No, I'm not a huffer. Geez. Sarcasm. I'm not 14; I can afford real drugs. Again, sarcasm.)

Yesterday Clara "Huffer" Jane and I went to a local chi-chi garden center in a somewhat chi-chi part of town in search of Mother's Day gifts. Why? Because I like to give my mom and grandma Mother's Day gifts they can kill. I think it's cathartic. I've never hunted in my life, but with the way things have gone in my life recently, I'm hoping for a shotgun and a hunting trip where I might shoot a bear for Mother's Day. I'll be lucky if I get a card.

Anyway ...

Huffer was in fine form yesterday. It was all shrieking, all the time. The pitch of her whining indicated that being pushed in her stroller through the aisles of beautiful flowers, trying to find the perfect overstuffed hanging basket to express our love to Mimi was akin to having her bare feet shoved into a paper shredder. Luckily (I thought), two little cherubs, dressed in head-to-toe Talbots Kidswear came to the rescue. Or so I thought.

The 4-year-girl, complete with a white bow in her blonde hair and painted red toenails peeking out from her sandals, seemed sweet enough. "Oh, look at the baby!" she called to her 2-year-old brother, and they swooped onto Huffer's stroller. She was thrilled to have other children to commisserate with regarding how terrible it is to be forced to spend time looking at flowers and how maybe they should call the authorities.

That's when The Cherub started turning into a little minion. She grabbed Huffer's hand and gave a pull. I said, "Hey Bitch. Quit it." Well, not quite. But I did step in, of course. So did The Cherub's mother, who said, "Oh! Look at her little feet! Touch her toes!" she commanded The Cherub, who proceeded to pinch my child's bare toes while her mother said, "Awwwww!"!

I suddenly had to look at some weeds on the other side of the greenhouse. "Where are you going?" called The Cherub as Huffer and I walked away. "Are you going to your car? Where's your car?" I pretended to not hear her, because as rude as it is for one child to pinch another child's toes at her mother's requested, it's even more rude to plow over mother and child with a motherfucking stroller while throwing polished river rocks at their heads.

"Hee hee hee," The Cherub giggled when it became apparent that I wasn't listening to her. "You have a really big butt!"

Her parents need to get a refund from whatever finishing school that's educating that brat. They also need to get a helmet for her, because I have a feeling that as she gets older, she's gonna get a lot of polished river rocks thrown at her damn head.