Its one of those days. I set off thinking its all going to be good. i went to bed early. with the intention of waking early and getting my daily kick.
First the rain. It poured down all over my clothes that I had left outside optimistically hoping that it wont rain overnight.
Next the bike ride. Cancelled due to rain. I totally hate to miss my exercise, whatever little of it I get.
Next the car. Wouldn't start.
Then the husband's car. Not his own but a work thing. It seemed obvious that I should use it considering our own car was dead. And the guy just lolls around all day. And the husband being prim and proper that he is, will charge it personal.
But it smelled.
The driver hated me on sight.
He could not be assed to take a child to school, because, clearly, he is destined for greater things, such as driving from meeting to meeting. And fucking drinking tea.
I want to hate the driver so much, I want to get in this face and say, Bitch, take this, and give it to him. I want to. Seriously. The thing is, I could, and he would be in hospital (So what if I am 5 ft tall and weigh in at 52 kilos? have you met desi middle aged men recently, they are total pansy asses, I swear) and his wife would be all mad and I would have a law-suit on my hands, and his children's education to take care of, and so on. So I fret. I fume. I read all morning hoping the feeling goes away.
But come afternoon and time to pick up my monster from school; and guess what, its parent teacher meeting day, and I am just a little bit stressed out because of the Bears project she had to make last week (I think we kicked ass; but what do I know; I teach huge monstrous boys and an occasional girl, they wake up at 5 pm most days, my students). What if she had claimed Stage Fright again. Should I feel proud that she can spell fright or just sad that she has an affliction I never imagined a child of mine would have.
I am wondering this stuff and this bitch-ass driver gives me more lip. Because, guess what, he cannot be assed to pick children up from school less than he can be assed to drop them off at it.
I learnt one thing in grad school, I swear. Its called the swear-word package deal. You NEVER say. Fuck that. You say Fuck that Shit. Get the drift. Like that. More compound the sentence structure, better it is, for your soul. Yeah ladies and gents, take notes, Thats what grad school is for, to help you swear your way out of situations. No shit.
So take that you. I know his name too. So I can cuss him out well and good.
Whatever. I am done with him. And the entire company he represents. I declare, here and now. I am
(a) Buying a new car of my own. I am done with the beast. While suggestions are most welcome, I am definitely thinking of overcoming of my aversion for Hyundai well-honed from my years in the US, to be able to look an I20 in the eye without sniggering.
(b) I am calling a cab company of my very own, just now. In case I have not said this before, I HATE depending on people, and I loathe having to deal with stuff through someone else, even if that someone else IS the love of my life and husband of 12 years.
Toodles Kids/ I am sworn out now/ And able to talk in normal human language and not in Cuss-Word Diads/ This is why I love this blog, its serious catharsis/