Friday, March 19, 2010

Open Letter: Kiss (My Ass) & Ride

Dear Mom in the Kiss 'n' Ride line at school today,

I'll start by confessing I've had a crappy two days. I got into an argument with McLovin yesterday, which I hate to do because it's always stupid; I am sick of Lent and my hardcore-ness about it because I really just want a huge piece of chocolate cake and bucket of Merlot and that's not going to happen for another 18 days or something; it's ugly and rainy out, which I hate; and I'm pretty sure I've surrendered so far that I haven't even brushed my teeth yet. And it's way past noon.

But here's the thing: Don't mouth off to me in the K'n'R line. You're lucky I didn't get out of the car. Even though I was barefoot. Because I'm sorta in the mood to pop someone in the mouth. I was feeling all benevolent a few weeks ago at Target, but you? Nah, you're ripe for a smackdown, and I bet if Lydia was in the car and totally willing to take my kids for the next 48 hours, I'd be sitting in a holding pen right now, not feeling bad at all.

Let's start at the beginning, shall we?

I never do K'n'R. One, we like to walk to school. And home from school. And, my logic is, if you're too close to take the bus, you're close enough to walk. Two, unless you're bringing some school project, too many books, or you're running unbelievably late, you're just being lazy. And three, it takes forever. On any given day, I can drive to the other side of our neighborhood and then walk the last quarter mile or so, pick the IHPs up, leave the school and make it back to my car before you're even out of the line.

But today was crappy and rainy and I was barefoot -- which is so
gross and like I'm channelling Britney Spears or something and even writing it down now I'm like "ewwwww" -- and Happy was foul and screw it we did K'n'R. And there you were, like you are EVERY DAY, because I see your car EVERY DAY. And you're ALWAYS the first one in line, even though your kid doesn't make it out to the pick up lane until a good 20 minutes after school gets out, which I totally attribute to being in Bart Simpson detention. So, every other car has to wait behind you because there's No Passing in the K'n'R lane.

So there I sat, 14 cars behind you. (Yes, I counted.) Seething. For 33 minutes. And then your kid finally came out, and you. got. out. of. your. car. Which, any moron knows that's like prime Rule Number One. It's even written on the back of the little numbered tags that we have to hang on our rear view mirror. IN BOLD. But apparently the school, the parents and anyone else can kiss your ass because - what? - you're first in line?

And then you opened the trunk. And we were all very impressed with the hands-free trunk opening option on your fancy Lexus SUV. So you could put the one - ONE - backpack back there. And then stand by as you watched the trunk door s.l.o.w.l.y. close. And then you chatted up the teacher out there, who -- forgive me if I'm wrong -- is there to enforce the efficiency of K'n'R, right? Like telling you not to get out of your car? Or, apparently not.

I will say -- and yes, I am a bitch and nasty and foul -- the best part was watching you get back in the car and watch 3 tons of metal heave down on one side as you sat down. Boy, you're really testing the air pressure in those tires, aren't you? [Editor's note: Now, now Kate, play nice. Just because the woman is a damn heifer doesn't mean you get to make fun of her size. You love me don't you? And I've got the finest, flyest fat ass you ever saw. - Lydia]

When you finally did make it out of the way, and turned the corner to head out, you STOPPED! WHY?!?! It was like the guy behind you was thinking, "Finally, we can get the hell outta h -- what??" Here's a hint, this isn't Space Mountain. You don't just move forward 17 inches and then stop again. You get the ever lovin' f*ck outta the way. And you do it fast.

But, it's what brought me to you. And I scoot up so that my front left bumper is headed right toward your driver's door. Maybe slightly close, but hey, I was taught to drive by a dude, complete with learning how to do donuts and recover from a spinout. I know where the bumpers are, and I can parallel park my beastly Frank in a spot like he's no bigger than a SmartCar. [Editor's Note: So named because he's getting new parts here and there. Replace bumper one year. New door the next. He's Frankenstein + Volvo. He's Frankenvolvo. - Kate]

I had a good 18 inches between our cars. And then you honked at me. Oh, you silly woman.

So, because I love to toy with people - and augmented by the fact I'm in a foul mood - I rolled down the window like we were friends and you had something *awesome* to say.

Me: [all happy-like] What's up!
You: [through closed window, gesture palms up and out like WTF]
Me: I can't hear you!
You: [roll window down two inches -- look like you're trying to talk to the intercom at Burger King] What the hell! Don't hit my car! God...
Me: How about getting out of the way then?
You: Bitch.
Me: [moves Volvo forward that extra 17 inches]
You: HEY! Don't make me get outta this car.
Me: [laughs] What is this? West Side Story? OOH! Can I be Maria??
You: [roll up window and flip me off]

What have I learned?
  1. I need to brush my teeth. I think it improves my mood.

  2. I'm never doing Kiss 'n' Ride again.

  3. Wear shoes.

And, if you fail at 1, 2 and 3, make sure Lydia is in the car. She'll totally bail you out.

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