It Has Been a Really Pleasant Day

Now, I'm 31 years old and I'll make no secret of the fact that Ken and I have discussed the possibility of, expanding the brood, so to speak.

I have a whole list of fantastically selfish reasons for and against having a child, because let's be realistic, there is no other reason for having a child other than the fact that we would want to.

Having helped raise a child for the last six years I have a whole list of reasons why it seems like a fantastically bad idea, and I have also been fortunate enough to know how cool it would be. But I have to say that the main, really selfish, reason I have at the moment is that I feel like Ken and I have already had the job of parenting together and I think it would be really fucking cool to actually have the experience of raising a child together where we would get to make ALL the decisions.

Case in point. Fucking Girl Scouts.

Now, let me just say upfront, I don't support Girl Scouts or Boy Scouts. I have a major objection to their bigoted stance on homosexuals and I'm morally opposed to supporting them based solely on this fact. I also really don't like the religious agenda of the Girl Scouts.

So, I was dismayed when Tootsie-pop was signed up for this particular extra-curricular activity. I'd also like to point out that Ken and I were not consulted about whether or not we wanted Tootsie-pop in Girl Scouts, and I for one have only very grudgingly supported her involvement.

I can easily list off 1000 things off the top of my head that I would rather do than participate in Girl Scout bullshit with my weekend time. Yet here we are.

So my irritation over the fact that Tootsie-pop's mother decided it would be a good idea to get on our case about how Ken and I aren't doing enough to sell Tootsie-pop's fucking Girl Scout cookies pissed me off at the time she chose to open her god damn mouth, and I'm still over the top pissed about it.

Needless to say, today's story is hardly fiction.

Word of the Day Sunday, February 07, 2010

ignoramus

\ig-nuh-RAY-mus\ , noun;

1. An ignorant person; a dunce.

She wasn't an ignoramus. She knew the rules of the game, mainly that they had been created in a way that left her at a disadvantage. But her husband was a skilled diplomat and negotiator. A professional mediator. She felt for him when she watched him using those skills trying to defuse her own hair trigger temper.

It just wasn't fair.

And she would be goddamned if this last offense was going to go with a turned cheek.

Her husband had pleaded with her not to write the email that was firing off her tongue, punctuated with the vocabulary of a sailor.

Ka-BOOM! Christ how she would love to see the email shrapnel from that one. The vicious verbal attacks being hurled like satisfying handfuls of gloppy mud. It would be a relief to let the torrent of names and insults come pouring from her mouth into the ear of that woman.

Unfortunately she knew that any action of hers would came back to land on her husband. That stacked deck of rules, she thought bitterly to herself. That and the fact that her husband always gently reminded her of whenever she found herself with the blood lust to send hateful emails flowing through her temples.

It is all about the innocents. They don't do those sorts of things because of the collateral damage that would be inflicted on the only person reinforcing the bond in the first place.

She felt trapped, and really just wanted to kick someone in the head. Unfortunately she had just made the untimely decision to quit her kickboxing gym.