Bloggenschtern

I don’t really know exactly what it is. OK, I do.

I’m getting far less tolerant as I age. I don’t really know how exactly this could be possible (does tolerance even have a negative scale?), but here we are.

And now, rather than yet again eat all the cranky and let another cancerous tumour ensue, I endeavor to actually SAY something.

The trick is – crass as I am – I try to find a way to not be a total asshole about it.

Because haven’t we ALL been confronted with assholes, who are trying to make – perhaps – a valid point? In their own assholey, ineffective way.

I want to be better than that.

But. Holey. Fucking. Moley. What a monumental emotional effort THAT is. I am literally spent afterwards. Like naptime spent.

Example: I was brunching with a friend the other day. (Stay with me here – don’t get all snotty that I’m having breakfast at 11 am. On a weekday, no less)

The configuration of the restaurant is such that there are chairs on one side of the tables, and a long-ass bench that runs the entire length of all the tables along the other side. With me so far? (Or have I lost you because of the brunch thing? Well.)

Sitting next to my friend and I are a couple of young girls (when you’re as old as I am, anyone younger than you looks to be about 12 years old). The girl sitting directly next to me on the bench is a knee shaker.

Who knows why? Is she triggered about inferior Hollandaise sauce on her
Eggs Benedict? Is she triggered because she used to date a guy(or gal) named Benedict? Is she merely using this shaking as a calorie-burning activity? Does she have early-onset-restless leg syndrome?

Regardless of the reason for this condition, her bobbing up and down, up and down (vigorously, may I add)(V. powerful quads)(I should refrain from mentioning)(yet I did) is shaking the entire GD bench.

It gets to the point where I am having a hard time both concentrating on my own conversation and successfully raising the fork to my mouth. (Please do not mention the eyepatch; I’m still getting used to it)

After about the 4th self-stabbing of my eye chin, I am thisclose to totally losing my shit.

“WOULD YOU PLEASE STOP SHAKING THE FUCKING BENCH!!!! DO YOU LIVE IN SUCH A LITTLE SELF-ABSORBED WORLD THAT YOU HAVE NO CLUE AS TO HOW YOUR RESTLESS LEG SYNDROME IS AFFECTING EVERYONE ELSE ON THE ENTIRE LENGTH OF THIS BENCH? GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS GIRL. AND STOP SHAKING! STOP SHAKING!! STOP SHAKING!!!“

But I don’t say this out loud. I really, really want to, but I don’t.

Instead, after spinning the hamster wheel around in my head for another quarter of an hour (just how long was this brunch, Shelley? Shut up. I don’t see this friend very often), I come up with a strategy that will save her dignity and my sanity.

Yay, diplomacy. A few kind words did resolve (what apparently only I considered) a situation, and she was truly lovely about it all.

In case you’re interested, my nap lasted 3 hours.