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Friday, May 21, 2010

Big Wheels Keep On Turning, Proud Mary (That's Me) Keep On Burning

I've just come from Laundromat (notice I said simply "Laundromat" and not "the laundromat" so as to make you think I was British and classy.) I still insist on doing my own laundry, rather than taking advantage of the drop-off service which would undoubtedly save me time, money and labor. I guess I just don't like the idea of strangers handling my underwear, unless I'm drunk. Call me old-fashioned, just call me!

I was sitting on the bench outside waiting for Dryer (again...British/classy), when I saw a small child - no more than five years old - riding his plastic Playskool motorcycle (it could have been Fisher-Price...I'm no auto mechanic) dangerously close to the street. My laundromat sits on an extremely busy intersection, and this little boy was hanging half off the curb, swerving like a lunatic toward oncoming traffic. I mean, he must have been wasted!

So, being a good samaritan and yenta, I went inside and found the mother of this drunk driver. "Does that belong to you?" I asked, pointing to the boy through the window. She nodded "yes". "Well you might wanna keep a better eye on him," I coached her, "He's going very fast and has almost skidded right into the middle of the intersection about ten times now."

See, I have this little quirk that I inherited from my Jewish mother: I often times feel it is my place - no, my responsibility in this life to teach certain people - no, EVERYONE how to parent, speak, behave, think, eat, pee and live; otherwise, how will they know? It's really very charming, I promise. Everybody thinks so.

*crickets*

Anyway, in this case, I certainly felt I had every right. I imagine my tone came off somewhat aggressive because the woman just stood motionless, staring a hole through my face as if to say, "mind your own shit, Gay" and returned to separating her whites. I surrendered and retired once more to my outside bench to watch the second half of Talladega Toddlers 500.

Not five minutes later, an SUV stopped at said busy intersection. A father sat at the wheel with two small children in the backseat. Daddy looked around to make sure he was not being watched, and just before the light changed, he pulled a big ol' bottle of Corona from a paper bag, took a sip and then stepped hard on the gas, taking them almost instantly out of my view.

I have to say... When I see PSA's and so-called experts on major news programs and morning talk shows reminding us all of the importance of NOT BEING COMPLETE FUCKING INCOMPETENT MORONS, I'm almost offended on behalf of the American public that we should be so condescended to. But then occasionally, I'll reluctantly leave the safety confines of my apartment and realize its necessity. This world is scary, you guys! Thank God I'm here to teach everyone how to live in it. And you're welcome.

I also can't help in these instances but to think of all those schmucks so aggressively opposing gay adoption in this country; clutching to the argument that the only acceptable environment in which to raise children is one including both a mother and father. I guess a mother to fold the laundry while the kids play in traffic and a father to teach them where to hide the beer so the cops won't see.

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