When my son was in elementary school his class did a creative writing project for Thanksgiving. They had to write a story about Thanksgiving from the turkey's point of view. They also had to draw a picture of their turkey.
Will 's story was about a young turkey who lived on a farm with his brother turkey. One year in November, the young turkey saw his brother walking around to the back of the barn with the farmer. When his brother didn't return, the young turkey went looking for him, and was horrified to find a tree stump covered with blood and his brother's lifeless head.
So the young turkey runs away, and spends a year in the woods training with guns, and martial arts, and various other deadly weapons, and returns to the farm the following November, frees the other turkeys from the barn, kills the farmer and his wife in their sleep, and burns the farm to the ground.
The picture was a turkey, with a machete and a machine gun, hunting knife, and bullet belts across his chest, bandana on his head, and smoking a cigar. I was positive I would get a call from the school councillor, "um, Ms. Fortson, we need to talk. I never did.
HAPPY Thanksgiving y'all!
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Friday, November 15, 2013
Of Motorized Carts and Bad Decisions...
What is it about a motorized shopping cart that can turn an intelligent, well-read, funny woman into a foul-mouthed white-trash hick?
I had to go to the ER recently for severe back pain. After a few neurological checks, "push my arms away... pull your feet back" and one EXCRUCIATING poke in the upper part of my left ass-cheek, I was diagnosed with sciatica, given prescriptions, and sent on my merry way.
My beloved son drove me to Target to get my prescription filled, and since the wait was going to be about 35 minutes and I was in no shape to walk around the store while we waited, I got one of those adorable motorized scooters to carry me around the store.
I zipped from department to department, like Mario Andretti with ADHD. I was really enjoying the power of the rollie-cart.. people got out of my way, I was able to move freely, and not walk like I had a stick up my butt. (Since my back had started hurting I had noticed I was walking with my thighs pressed together, almost knock-kneed, like I had to see really bad... not a pretty sight)
I was leaving the toy department, and found myself on the back isle of the store. The isle was blocked by an older woman and her shopping cart who was perusing the towels and washcloth. At the end of an isle near her, was a young lady who looked to be about 8 months pregnant. There was plenty of room for me to go around the pregnant girl, so I swung the cart wide and gunned it...
In my efforts to safely avoid plowing down said pregnant girl, I swung out a little, tiny teensy bit too wide, and BAM!- collided with the end of the other row of shelves. I know I scared everyone, myself included, and I quietly apologized to Miss Preggers, giggling nervously and trying not to be too embarrassed. That's when it happened,
Mrs. I-need-New-towels piped up with 'Well it's a good thing you didn't hit her!"
I swear my head spun around in a complete circle before I sneered at her and snarled "THAT'S WHY I HIT THE SHELF, TO AVOID HITTING HER!"
To which Mrs. Snide Snarkybitch replied, "Well, she IS pregnant!
To which my inner trailer-trash yelled, "WELL ARN'T YOU A SMART ASS"
At this point, I was speeding up the isle away from the scene. But she couldn't't stand to let me have the last word, so she shot back with, "NO, YOU'RE A SMART ASS" (what a unique and snappy come-back! In hind-sight, I should have countered with "I know you are, but what am I")
I was on a roll now, both literally and figuratively, and although I was at the far end of the isle and about to round the next corner, I shouted over my shoulder, "AND YOU, MA'AM, ARE AN ASSHOLE!!!" And I continued to flee the scene.
When my son caught up with me a minute later, all he could say was "Damn, Mom, what was that?" I didn't answer.
Now, in hindsight, I should have just asked Miss Preggers to "excuse me" and waited for her to clear the isle so I could turn, but hindsight is 20-20, and I don't own a time machine. I'm sure my little white-trash moment was the topic of conversation when Mrs. Middle-aged-and-hormonal returned home to her hubby, I might have even been the subject of Miss Preggers Facebook status. I'm not exactly proud of what I did, but honestly, it was rather cathartic!
Those rollie-carts should come with a warning label,
CAUTION-USE OF THIS CART CAN RESULT IN "HONEY BOO BOO" LIKE BEHAVIOR.
I had to go to the ER recently for severe back pain. After a few neurological checks, "push my arms away... pull your feet back" and one EXCRUCIATING poke in the upper part of my left ass-cheek, I was diagnosed with sciatica, given prescriptions, and sent on my merry way.
My beloved son drove me to Target to get my prescription filled, and since the wait was going to be about 35 minutes and I was in no shape to walk around the store while we waited, I got one of those adorable motorized scooters to carry me around the store.
I zipped from department to department, like Mario Andretti with ADHD. I was really enjoying the power of the rollie-cart.. people got out of my way, I was able to move freely, and not walk like I had a stick up my butt. (Since my back had started hurting I had noticed I was walking with my thighs pressed together, almost knock-kneed, like I had to see really bad... not a pretty sight)
I was leaving the toy department, and found myself on the back isle of the store. The isle was blocked by an older woman and her shopping cart who was perusing the towels and washcloth. At the end of an isle near her, was a young lady who looked to be about 8 months pregnant. There was plenty of room for me to go around the pregnant girl, so I swung the cart wide and gunned it...
In my efforts to safely avoid plowing down said pregnant girl, I swung out a little, tiny teensy bit too wide, and BAM!- collided with the end of the other row of shelves. I know I scared everyone, myself included, and I quietly apologized to Miss Preggers, giggling nervously and trying not to be too embarrassed. That's when it happened,
Mrs. I-need-New-towels piped up with 'Well it's a good thing you didn't hit her!"
I swear my head spun around in a complete circle before I sneered at her and snarled "THAT'S WHY I HIT THE SHELF, TO AVOID HITTING HER!"
To which Mrs. Snide Snarkybitch replied, "Well, she IS pregnant!
To which my inner trailer-trash yelled, "WELL ARN'T YOU A SMART ASS"
At this point, I was speeding up the isle away from the scene. But she couldn't't stand to let me have the last word, so she shot back with, "NO, YOU'RE A SMART ASS" (what a unique and snappy come-back! In hind-sight, I should have countered with "I know you are, but what am I")
I was on a roll now, both literally and figuratively, and although I was at the far end of the isle and about to round the next corner, I shouted over my shoulder, "AND YOU, MA'AM, ARE AN ASSHOLE!!!" And I continued to flee the scene.
When my son caught up with me a minute later, all he could say was "Damn, Mom, what was that?" I didn't answer.
Now, in hindsight, I should have just asked Miss Preggers to "excuse me" and waited for her to clear the isle so I could turn, but hindsight is 20-20, and I don't own a time machine. I'm sure my little white-trash moment was the topic of conversation when Mrs. Middle-aged-and-hormonal returned home to her hubby, I might have even been the subject of Miss Preggers Facebook status. I'm not exactly proud of what I did, but honestly, it was rather cathartic!
Those rollie-carts should come with a warning label,
CAUTION-USE OF THIS CART CAN RESULT IN "HONEY BOO BOO" LIKE BEHAVIOR.
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