You Say Tomato, I Say Go F#%* Yourself

Ah, sweet Aunt Flo...

About a week or so before she is due for a visit I have bouts of searing irritability and barely contained crankiness. Let us take today for example: On my lunch break from the transcription office on the way back from paying for a small cup of coffee partly from the nearly-empty change basket in my kitchen, I am approached by someone in a black fleece jacket. She says ma'am to me or some such thing and starts following me.

I snarl at her, "What do you want?" She throws her hands back and explains she is from Save the Children. Well we'll see about that, but I do give her a bit of time and apologize for being initially nasty.

Then later I get on the train and, sweet Jesus, I find a seat. Unfortunately it is in front of some pockmarked freako who keeps swinging his crotch forward and backward, ever closer to my face. I hold my crossword puzzle daybook in between me and his junk but spend half my time thinking get...that...dick...out...of...my...face...you...(insert expletive).

Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. Then I get home and can only locate one library book. I go to the library and a middle-school aged girl, clearly an idiot, darts into traffic, gets honked at, and tries to shove her way past me to get in the door. I see her coming and block it with my Polish ass so that the entitled Cambridge leftie brat has to wait her turn.

HARUMPH!