(Note to self: Never again think, “I’m not going to blog tonight. I have nothing to say so I’ll just read.” You’ll end up in a situation forcing you to respond to yourself, “Well, shit. Now I’ve got to write this down.)
We went for a walk in our jogging stroller – destination: the store. We needed sustenance and supplies for the week, and it seemed like a good idea to get out of the house for some fresh air. We enjoyed the smiles and coos of fellow grocery shoppers and met three other sets of twins.
Double trouble is taking over the world, y’all.
We left the store and set off for home – promises of mac ‘n cheese in the muppets’ future. But standing in our way was the troll under the billy goats gruff bridge. Or rather, two punk-asses of no more than 16, smugly smoking and bitching/bragging about how they were likely going to flunk out because of how much school they ditched this semester. (It’s like a greasy skater version of my nightmare.)
I won’t lie. I gave them a dirty look as I attempted to navigate the double stroller off the sidewalk, into the parking lot, around them.
Punk-ass 1 gave as good as he got – glaring right back and exhaled a puff of smoke in my direction. I ignored him. There, my friends, is where this story should have ended. (Possibly with a note to Miss Manners, but there’s not really a question of etiquette there. Don’t do that.)
Punk-ass 2 turned and flicked his cigarette butt toward me with a smirk. The flaming ember of ash landed right on Search’s foot rest.
I whirled around and snapped, “Hey! Watch it!” accompanied by a death glare perfected by years of practicing “the look.” In a tone loud enough for passer-bys to hear, I asked Search, “Are you okay sweetie? You didn’t get burned by that cigarette did you?”
Now, what I was thinking was a bit more colorful:
MOTHER FUCKER! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST DO, YOU PIMPLY PUNK ASS LITTLE SHIT. Forget throwing a winecone at you – I would very much like to bash in your clearly empty brain with a flaming winecone. Then I will bury your body in the nearest marsh recommended by Siri. Seriously? I will TAKE. YOU. DOWN. if there is one slightly pinkened area on my child’s body. CITIZENS ARREST CITIZENS ARREST!!! (And very likely a 4-15 disturbing the peace when I completely lose my shit and go all batshit crazy on your ass.) AND WHERE IS YOUR MOTHER?!
As his friend slowly backed away (he may have seen the crazy in my eyes), Punk-ass 2 mumbled, “sorry.” (To be fair, while he *had* meant to be a little turd, he had not intentionally tried to set the double stroller ablaze.)
“There is an ashtray receptacle 5-feet from you,” I hissed with icy calmness as we headed home in a roundabout way to lose their tail – just in case they followed us. (Paranoia kicks in along with my fight or flight response.)
Moral of this story (because apparently it needs to be said): It is NOT appropriate to flick a cigarette butt toward a double stroller.