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I've been called "bitch," "elitist bitch" and "not nice" all in one day. The first two I managed without even leaving the house. I also had a theology lesson from a five year old.
I'd elaborate but "Law and Order" is on in a minute and I need caffeine.
Edited
Bitch.
This occured during a phone conversation with a guy I'll call "Big Dumb Dumb Head" (BDDH) because
I don't know what his name is.
Phone rings and I answer.
Me: Hello.
BDDH: Hi, is Sara there?
Me: Sorry, there's no one here by that name.
BDDH: You sure?
Me: Yes, I'm sure. (dramatic eye rolling accompanied because people always ask if I'm sure.)
BDDH: I think you're lying.
Me: Why would I lie to you?
BDDH: You are lying. Is this ***-****? (He actually had the number right)
Me: Yes, it is but there is no Sara here, as I've told you before.
BDDH: That's the number she gave me. We hooked up at "local nightclub."
Me: Maybe you wrote the number down wrong? (I know, I should have hung up on him.)
BDDH: No, this is the right number. I think you are Sara. (Obviously BDDH got a fake number;
I used to do the same thing before I learned to threaten men with the little plastic sword you
get spearing an olive in a bloody mary.)
Me: I'm not Sara. Goodbye. (Coffee was done and my head was beginning to hurt.)
BDDH: You are Sara; you're lying bitch and I'm never calling you again.
He hangs up! This was almost as entertaining as the guy who called and asked for my brother, Dean.
I don't have a brother, far less one named Dean but he wouldn't believe me either.
Elitist Bitch.
This was far less dramatic. A couple of local kids had come by wanting donations for something or other.
They were from the convent school that was my old high school's biggest rival when I was a high schooler.
So, I give some money and one girl writes my name on the form she has on her clipboard. I notice
she's written it as one word and I mention (nicely) that it's a hyphenated name. In return, I get
a look that would do Jessica Simpson proud and a: "Huh?"
I explain, still nicely, that my name is not, Donnamarie, as she has written but Donna-Marie.
With a hyphen or dash between the two names.
She corrected it accompanied by much eye rolling. As they walked away I heard her say to her friend:
"Elitist bitch."
Now while I did wish a plague of acne upon her; I was more amazed that she knew what elitist meant
but not hyphenated. What are those convent schools teaching kids nowadays?
Not nice.
I have a little dacshund named Azzurri. It takes her a while to warm up to people and she dislikes
children, growls at them. My neighbours' kids understand this but their relatives don't. Their little
cousin said I was: "Not nice" when I suggested he shouldn't try to call Azzurri to the fence.
Theology from a five year old perspective.
My mum finally got me to visit the class she teaches. She's part of a Catholic group that does a
great deal of community and charity work. I used to go to their youth group when I was a teenager.
Anyway, her class is a weekly programme where kids come and learn about the Catholic faith in ways that
tinies can understand. They also colour, sing and talk about their pets.
I don't like children; they are noisy, messy and hyper. I don't know how to talk to them but I
remember that I hated to be talked down to when I was little so I try not to do that. I learned today
that talking to a small child is like being sucked down a rabbit hole; everyone else knows what's
going on but you're completely in the dark.
Child: Auntie So and So is your mummy?
Me: Yes, she is.
Child: No, she's not. (Accompanied by giggling. Cynicism must be taking it's toll on my face; I obviously don't
look truthful anymore.)
Me: She is my mother.
Child: No, she's not.
Me: Yes, she is.
(We went back and forth until I realised how ridiculous I must sound and tried another tactic.)
Me: Why don't you believe she's my mother?
Child: You don't look like her. I look just like my mummy. (more giggles)
Me: (pleading for strength) No, I don't look like her; I look like my dad.
Child: You don't look like your daddy.
Me: (mental head thudding) You've never seen my dad; believe me, I look like him.
Child: Daddies are boys.
Me: They start out that way.
Child: You're a girl. (she took my hands and gave me one of those wide eyed, gap toothed grins. She was almost endearing
except her hands were sticky.)
Me: I'm aware that I'm a girl.
Child: Girls don't look like boys. You have pretty hair, it's long and boys don't have long hair.
Me: If you say so. (It seemed safest to give up.)
Child: I have a kitty. (15 minutes of prattle about the kitty...Santa Claus brought it.)
Me: I have a dog. (I still don't know why I volunteered that bit of information; 15 minutes of questions about my dog ending
with a promise that I would never let my dog chase her kitty.)
Child: Auntie So and So tells us about God. (Amazing how fast kids can change the subject on you)
Me: Does she?
Child: Yes, God is up there. (She pointed to a tree; mummy falling down on the job...hmmm?)
Me: God is in the tree? (Why should I be the only one suffering.)
Child: (Giggling) You're funny.
Me: Thanks. (Better funny than bitchy.)
Child: God is in heaven.
Me: I see.
Child: Angels live in heaven too.
Me: So I've heard.
Child: I like Auntie So and So.
Me: I'm sure she likes you too.
Child: She tells us about God. (Repetitive little thing.)
Me: So you said. What does she tell you about God? (By now the suffering had become inevitable so I decided to wallow in it.)
Child: God is happy when you do what mummy and daddy say. And when you say your prayers.
Me: I suppose he is.
Child: She said God wants us to be nice to everyone, even big dumb dumb heads.
Me: (Flabbergasted) Auntie So and So said big dumb dumb heads? (I decided not to restart the whole mummy debate.)
Child: No. (She squinched up her face and I assumed she was thinking it over. I wish mum had said big dumb dumb heads.)
Silence from us both for a while. Then...
Child: People who step on us!
Me: Sorry?
Child: God wants us to be nice to people who step on us. (Proud smile.) Like in the prayer.
Me: I see. (I deduced that she meant "those who trespass against us" but no way was I opening up that can of worms. People who
step on us would have to do.
Child: I like you, your nails are red.
Me: Uh, thanks. (A strange reason to like anyone.)
Child: Will you come back next week?
Me: Maybe. (Never in a million years!)
Then she dragged me over to colour with her and after that it was time to go home. Thank Heavens!.
I did like her way of putting things though. Life would probably be easier if we were all nice to big dumb dumb heads and people
who step on us....of course, they'd have to be nice back. But really, I've never had a better birth control lecture. They should
be doing this with high school kids; have them spend an hour with a five year old. I guarantee, no more teen pregnancies.
I'd elaborate but "Law and Order" is on in a minute and I need caffeine.
Edited
Bitch.
This occured during a phone conversation with a guy I'll call "Big Dumb Dumb Head" (BDDH) because
I don't know what his name is.
Phone rings and I answer.
Me: Hello.
BDDH: Hi, is Sara there?
Me: Sorry, there's no one here by that name.
BDDH: You sure?
Me: Yes, I'm sure. (dramatic eye rolling accompanied because people always ask if I'm sure.)
BDDH: I think you're lying.
Me: Why would I lie to you?
BDDH: You are lying. Is this ***-****? (He actually had the number right)
Me: Yes, it is but there is no Sara here, as I've told you before.
BDDH: That's the number she gave me. We hooked up at "local nightclub."
Me: Maybe you wrote the number down wrong? (I know, I should have hung up on him.)
BDDH: No, this is the right number. I think you are Sara. (Obviously BDDH got a fake number;
I used to do the same thing before I learned to threaten men with the little plastic sword you
get spearing an olive in a bloody mary.)
Me: I'm not Sara. Goodbye. (Coffee was done and my head was beginning to hurt.)
BDDH: You are Sara; you're lying bitch and I'm never calling you again.
He hangs up! This was almost as entertaining as the guy who called and asked for my brother, Dean.
I don't have a brother, far less one named Dean but he wouldn't believe me either.
Elitist Bitch.
This was far less dramatic. A couple of local kids had come by wanting donations for something or other.
They were from the convent school that was my old high school's biggest rival when I was a high schooler.
So, I give some money and one girl writes my name on the form she has on her clipboard. I notice
she's written it as one word and I mention (nicely) that it's a hyphenated name. In return, I get
a look that would do Jessica Simpson proud and a: "Huh?"
I explain, still nicely, that my name is not, Donnamarie, as she has written but Donna-Marie.
With a hyphen or dash between the two names.
She corrected it accompanied by much eye rolling. As they walked away I heard her say to her friend:
"Elitist bitch."
Now while I did wish a plague of acne upon her; I was more amazed that she knew what elitist meant
but not hyphenated. What are those convent schools teaching kids nowadays?
Not nice.
I have a little dacshund named Azzurri. It takes her a while to warm up to people and she dislikes
children, growls at them. My neighbours' kids understand this but their relatives don't. Their little
cousin said I was: "Not nice" when I suggested he shouldn't try to call Azzurri to the fence.
Theology from a five year old perspective.
My mum finally got me to visit the class she teaches. She's part of a Catholic group that does a
great deal of community and charity work. I used to go to their youth group when I was a teenager.
Anyway, her class is a weekly programme where kids come and learn about the Catholic faith in ways that
tinies can understand. They also colour, sing and talk about their pets.
I don't like children; they are noisy, messy and hyper. I don't know how to talk to them but I
remember that I hated to be talked down to when I was little so I try not to do that. I learned today
that talking to a small child is like being sucked down a rabbit hole; everyone else knows what's
going on but you're completely in the dark.
Child: Auntie So and So is your mummy?
Me: Yes, she is.
Child: No, she's not. (Accompanied by giggling. Cynicism must be taking it's toll on my face; I obviously don't
look truthful anymore.)
Me: She is my mother.
Child: No, she's not.
Me: Yes, she is.
(We went back and forth until I realised how ridiculous I must sound and tried another tactic.)
Me: Why don't you believe she's my mother?
Child: You don't look like her. I look just like my mummy. (more giggles)
Me: (pleading for strength) No, I don't look like her; I look like my dad.
Child: You don't look like your daddy.
Me: (mental head thudding) You've never seen my dad; believe me, I look like him.
Child: Daddies are boys.
Me: They start out that way.
Child: You're a girl. (she took my hands and gave me one of those wide eyed, gap toothed grins. She was almost endearing
except her hands were sticky.)
Me: I'm aware that I'm a girl.
Child: Girls don't look like boys. You have pretty hair, it's long and boys don't have long hair.
Me: If you say so. (It seemed safest to give up.)
Child: I have a kitty. (15 minutes of prattle about the kitty...Santa Claus brought it.)
Me: I have a dog. (I still don't know why I volunteered that bit of information; 15 minutes of questions about my dog ending
with a promise that I would never let my dog chase her kitty.)
Child: Auntie So and So tells us about God. (Amazing how fast kids can change the subject on you)
Me: Does she?
Child: Yes, God is up there. (She pointed to a tree; mummy falling down on the job...hmmm?)
Me: God is in the tree? (Why should I be the only one suffering.)
Child: (Giggling) You're funny.
Me: Thanks. (Better funny than bitchy.)
Child: God is in heaven.
Me: I see.
Child: Angels live in heaven too.
Me: So I've heard.
Child: I like Auntie So and So.
Me: I'm sure she likes you too.
Child: She tells us about God. (Repetitive little thing.)
Me: So you said. What does she tell you about God? (By now the suffering had become inevitable so I decided to wallow in it.)
Child: God is happy when you do what mummy and daddy say. And when you say your prayers.
Me: I suppose he is.
Child: She said God wants us to be nice to everyone, even big dumb dumb heads.
Me: (Flabbergasted) Auntie So and So said big dumb dumb heads? (I decided not to restart the whole mummy debate.)
Child: No. (She squinched up her face and I assumed she was thinking it over. I wish mum had said big dumb dumb heads.)
Silence from us both for a while. Then...
Child: People who step on us!
Me: Sorry?
Child: God wants us to be nice to people who step on us. (Proud smile.) Like in the prayer.
Me: I see. (I deduced that she meant "those who trespass against us" but no way was I opening up that can of worms. People who
step on us would have to do.
Child: I like you, your nails are red.
Me: Uh, thanks. (A strange reason to like anyone.)
Child: Will you come back next week?
Me: Maybe. (Never in a million years!)
Then she dragged me over to colour with her and after that it was time to go home. Thank Heavens!.
I did like her way of putting things though. Life would probably be easier if we were all nice to big dumb dumb heads and people
who step on us....of course, they'd have to be nice back. But really, I've never had a better birth control lecture. They should
be doing this with high school kids; have them spend an hour with a five year old. I guarantee, no more teen pregnancies.
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On a more pleasant note, I have a little yorkie back home called Toto, aged 10. (Yay! Pet info exchanges.) Alas, my dog is a little whore for attention and will go to any lengths to make a visitor feel loved... so I always feel jealous when a doggie portrays suspicion and takes its time trusting strangers. Ohh, and they have a Dachshund Day every October here in new york with a parade where owners dress their dogs and put them in floats. *has silly idea of Azzurri all dressed up in a miniature Azzurri uniform* Hee. :D
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I love yorkies; one of my best friends growing up had a few. Azzurri's very dominant and bossy but she's just a year old. I'm hoping (desperately) that she'll calm down a bit as she grows.
OMG a parade of dacshunds would be hilarious; they are so funny in groups, they egg each other on to do silly stuff. I'd wanted a pair of them but after having her I think I'll wait a few years and see if she gets any calmer before getting another.