Tuesday, February 12, 2013
He’s clearing his throat again.
The dude needs a smackdown. Blind much?
My hands are full. I’m stressed to the hilt. If I stop to pay attention to you, do you not realize that all the cr@p I’m juggling is going to fall?!
[Polite’ish’ throat clearing and that quizzical eyebrow thing.]
I’m pi$$ed at Mr. Pompous now. He knows how to make my life easier and instead just stands there - mocking me.
Dude, you’re a d!ck.
Just sayin’. I’m contemplating tossing this stuff at you.
[Final throat clearing.]
I chuck EVERYTHING at him. Rapid fire.
I’m briefly reminded of my childhood when my flame haired, adultering father would miander in drunk and have ‘expectations’. My mother who would be ‘juggling’ all day (she used to scrub the floors on her hands and knees nightly to meet his expectations in homemaking and have the same meal ready and waiting (in the time of no microwaves), just in case he decided to bless her with his presence). She would start chucking; first the plates as a warning and then graduate to knives.
I was where she was at with my level of frustration with the Throat-clearer. Instead of ducking for cover like Dad, Dude suspended the objects in mid-air, reorganized them and handed them back to me.
It was all jedi-like. Despite my efforts I found myself making light saber sound effects in my head.
Dude could’ve done that at any time?
That was so anti-climatic...but, I feel peace.
Lord, “rebellion is as witchcraft”, an abomination to you, and I have been the epitome of a rebellious daughter. Thank you for being a gentleman, and not taking over and making me your puppet. I appreciate the boundaries you’ve given me. You created me and know what my heart can and cannot handle and give your help whenever I ask...
Or rapid fire chuck things at you like a temper-tantruming spoiled brat.