Thursday, January 26, 2012
sorry for you
This is Fat Chicken. He is my favourite Christmas decoration. It is just not right when we pack him up every January.
It makes me feel sorry.
Until next year, Fat Chicken...........
As of right now there are 3 cartons of eggs in my fridge and none of them are full.
Who is doing that?
This morning I said, no less than 5 times, to Amelia: "Where are your socks?" To which she would respond: "In my room." To which I would respond: "Can you put them on please?"
5 times in 15 minutes.
Where is my brick wall?
You know how sometimes you are out and about and you see things that aren't right? And it makes you feel sorry. Legit sorry. Like 'I'm sorry that just happened. It stinks' kind of sorry. Like when someone has their indicator on to enter a parking space only to have someone steal it right before their eyes? I saw that on Monday. I felt sorry for the little lady in her car, waiting so patiently for the old man to back out, only to have the young guy snag it from her.
Or when you see a woman with two toddlers and a baby in a carseat at the Walmart and she looks like she is on the verge of homicide. And you wonder what the heck she is doing there, in her state. You might wonder why she can't do this when her man is home and able to help her. And then you think maybe her man is useless and refuses to help with the children so she can go shopping for the family leaving her with no other options but to do it during the day. All by herself. Or maybe she wants to, as hard as it is, because otherwise being home with them all day makes her crazy.
I have no idea what that feels like.
I am lying.
Whatever the reason, and there has to be a reason, right? I still feel sorry for her.
Or when you run into your dinky Sobey's to grab one bunch of cilantro only to find that they don't have any and you end up cursing that dinky little Sobey's and vowing never to go back only to find yourself back there 3 days later because you need an onion.
One bloody onion. And it's still a risk.
That's just not right. I feel sorry for me when that happens.
But you know who I do NOT feel sorry for?
The people who drive right in front of the front doors at Costco and then find themselves waiting for the throngs of people who have just exited the store to cross the pavement. These throngs that never stop thronging. The drivers sit in their cars waiting for a gap.
Inching. Stopping. Inching. Stopping. Inching. Stopping.
Then I happen upon them and find myself with urges and needs. It's the urge to knock on their windows and ask some questions: "Out of all the places to drive in this Costco sized parking lot, why do you have to drive through here? Where the throngs are thronging. Why do you do that?"
I need to know.
I really feel as though I need to know. It's a compulsion. Please, someone educate me.
I have to go to Superstore now and the eye twitching has already begun. I have to get Jello brand lemon pie filling. I am making a pie. Even the crust will be made by me.
This is big news.
And tonight I have book club. We will be discussing The Sister Brothers, which I very much enjoyed.
What are you reading right now?
If it is Wolf Hall then I feel sorry for you.