I should be meaner but I’m not. I should just be mean and tell the little girl that she can’t have a cookie. No one invited her to have a cookie and it’s rude to insist on having a cookie.
A little red haired girl in purple and pink. She’s wearing a short skirt and high tenny boots. She’s trying to ride the skateboard. She hasn’t got the balance down yet. She never will on that little toy skateboard. It’s not long enough to get both feet onto it.
Gads, this kid irritates me. I know I should be more tolerant but damn, I’m tired of always being the nice one. It seems I’m nice and everyone else always gets what they want. It’s my turn now. What I want is to be left alone. I want them to do things for me. Isn’t turn about fair play? It’s an old saying but one that seems to be forgotten in the modern world. Looking out for number one seems to be the new mantra. Getting ahead….this is not what I want to be writing about. I need to find a character somewhere in all of this people watching.
That little girl will be trouble when she’s older. There’s something that sets my teeth on edge. Perhaps it’s the way she keeps shouting, ‘Hi, James!’ to the guy across the street. He’s older than her father. His kids babysat her. It’s too familiar, too begging, too ‘I have a crush on him’. My own kids call our friends by their first names but not when addressing them directly. No, they don’t call them Mr. Johnson or Mr. Thomas either. They tend to just et on with what they want to say. When asking if Steve and Jessica are coming to the party they will use their first names.
Perhaps it’s the girl’s petulant sulking lips and sullen attitude that combine with the desperate need to be noticed by the guy across the street that cause the warning bells to go off. These children seem foreign to me. So little adult. It’s scary. Children should be shy but curious. Goofy. Caught up in their own world. They are supposed to be innocent. They are not supposed to be looking for a man at in second grade. What makes these little girls call out to men this way? Do some of them truly have lolita syndrome? But how does the lolita develop? Where does this knowledge and desire of the sexual come from?
© 2013 Nancy Sparks
I think my cat is part dog. She’s lying on the floor at my feet. She took an attack posture when somone walked their dog in front of my house. She once tried to attack the neighbor’s dog when Jessica stopped to chat while walking Rex. She’s a family oriented cat. She worries when she senses that a member of her family is sick.
She doesn’t like the girl next door. I can’t say that I blame her. I don’t think I like the girl next door either. She’s a sneaky little girl. I don’t like sneaky people. She’s lied to me before and smiled her little innocent smile. It doesn’t work on me. Folks who smile those kinds of smiles are usually up to something. This little girl seems spoiled to me. She’s a manipulator. I wonder if she realizes that she’s run into someone who’s not a social person, who’s more adept at using woods instinct than social etiquette. But even I know it’s rude to push someone aside and try to go into their house. You don’t go into someone’s house unless you are invited.
I think the little girl is nosy. She’s part of the entitled group of Americans. Oh not the poor..not those entitled people that politicians are always shouting about. No, I’m talking about the people who think that they are a bit more special than other people. They think the rules don’t apply to them. No food allowed in the pool area? “Well, we’re having a little party. It’ll be OK.” No double parking? “But I’m just dropping off one book and I’m late for my tennis lesson so I can’t walk from the parking space 100 feet away.”
These entitled people are the ones who feel they are entitled to break the rules. It’s usually an affliction of those a bit older who have, at least in their minds, become a success. Lately it seems to be creeping down the age bracket.
© 2013 Nancy Sparks
It’s a world into which I don’t fit. It’s a world that seems strange to me. Smart phones and bustle aren’t me. This isn’t what I want to write about though. I’m tired of phones. I could describe the ladies in the dressing room talking about stereotypical things. Yes, the word ‘stereotypical’ was spoken by a lady in the dressing room. It’s her word, not mine. Funny but I think that just made her a stereotypical upper-middle class, white suburban mom who says, “Honey, don’t take off your shoes”. Her voices is playful, so different from the voice that I use with kids and dogs. I call it my drill instructor voice. This woman has a voice that seems to want to be a friend more than issuing a command. Her vocal style is foreign to me.
Watching these ladies in the dressing room with their children is a study of a wild animal in it’s habitat. I observe them at the pool with thier child as they try to avoid the germs in the dressing room. They insist that their children stand on benches and don’t touch the floor. They must always wear their flip flops and never, ever touch the floor. They warn other moms. They give advice on avoiding the germs. As though standing on the bench will avoid floor germs when everyone else is standing on the benches to avoid floor germs. The floors germs have just become bench germs.
I ignore them. These germs don’t worry me. Far better to just make your peace with floor germs. Call it building immunity and buy some athlete’s foot fungus spray.
© Nancy Sparks 2013