So it’s Saturday morning, and I decided to go back to bed instead of walking the pooch at 6am, so now it’s 9:30am and we’re outside. 6am is much nicer because it’s dark and cold and there are, therefore, no annoying people to piss me off. But now it’s 9:30am and there are annoying people.
This old woman, who never has anything nice to say to anyone, and whom I like less and less, exponentially, sees us coming, and literally runs out into the four-lane road. When she’s halfway across, she slows to a mosey — which, sadly, didn’t get her run over, as there were no cars nearby, not even one — and turns back to yell, defiantly, “Ah ain’t sceered uh him!!” Mmm-hmm. I can tell.
Instead of replying “that’s ok. I’m the one you should be afraid of,” which was on the tip of my tongue, I say politely, “You aren’t supposed to be afraid of him. He’s just a dog.” Stupid of me to be nice. Stupid.
Cut to six hours later. I’ve been blowing and raking leaves all day, excluding the time when the leafblower died and I had to go buy a %$#@ing new one. I have 542,875,941 leaves piled outside the fence. I’m totally exhausted, freezing, irritable, and can barely move my arms. I had to take part of the fence apart, so I could get the leaves out of the yard, and now it’s getting dark, it’s 35°F, and it’s starting to rain. I have to get the rest of the leaves outside the fence, and put the fence back together — which is going to involve not only clamps and a wrench, but worse, taking my nice warm gloves off — before (a) it gets dark, or (b) I turn into an popsicle.
So, naturally, who shows up? That’s right, catty old bitch who can’t say anything nice and is physically incapable of minding her own business. I pointedly ignore her for easily five minutes, but she won’t go away. Finally I turn off the leafblower and just look at her. And she says, “You hafta git these out ta th’ streeeeet.”
Gee. You mean exactly like the last ten times I’ve done this, you annoying old cow?
God, I fucking hate people.