Karma
It was a normal Sunday morning. I woke up, frantically got ready for church, and found myself running late. I sped over to Bridget's house only to find her running even later, which of course relinquished me from the blame of tardiness. I stood around waiting for her to finish getting ready and she asked, "What was wrong with you last night?"
Caught off gaurd by the question, I answered, "uh...what do you mean?"
She came back saying, "You seemed mad last night when you left."
I was amazed by her complete misunderstanding of my body language and tried to inform her that I was in fact tired, since the stupid movie, RENT, was more than 2 hours long!
She retorted that I need to learn to be tired in a nicer way.....whatever that means.
We got to church and hopped out of the car, scurrying to the front doors. The trollies had stopped running for quite some time so we walked (not holding hands since she told me I'm an angry tired person). Continuing in the awkward, not-quite-a-run-walk, Bridget offered some suggestions to my "lifeless" ambulation. According to her, my arms hang to my side like a pair of summer sausages when I walk. So, as a result, I begin flailing my arms in a passive agressive protest to her criticism.
She then continued, adding that I never wear my jackets correctly on the peaks of my shoulders. Apparently they're "always too far back."
Feeling my heart squish between the toes of the foot of suggestive criticism, I sauntered into church holding her hand with a red rover grip (thanks Dane Cook).
Leaving church she asked me, "why don't you sing louder? You look like a limp pickle during worship."
The reason was I didn't know any of the songs and I always feel like an idiot if I think I know the notes and belt them out, only to find that I don't when the person in front of me turns their head in a reflexive cringe. Needless to say, I don't think she believed me.
Driving out of the parking lot she blurted, "Don't run over these people," when I was like 50 feet from them. Then, "are you going to stop," as I glided up to a stopped car at the stoplight. And then, while coming to a stop at the light at 6th and Western, she yelled again because I opened the door to spit a loogie and momentarily forgot to hold the brake. (I was actually pretty close to hitting the car in front of us but that doesn't matter right now) As I began to make an excuse, she asked me why I was driving so bad. (Understand I was driving the same way I always do, she's just weirding out for no reason.) So I told her I thought she was mistaken and that I was actually doing a pretty good job of chauffering her around.
We then started talking about what to eat. I offered the tuna helper I brought with me and she wrinkled her nose at the mere thought. I asked her what she wanted to do and she said, "I don't care, whatever you want to do." So I again offered the tuna helper. She answered, "OK, I'll just find something at the house, because I don't want to eat tuna helper." Uh..... I thought it was whatever I wanted to do.
OK, so I asked her if she had any coupons. Yes, she did. I asked where to. She rattled off almost every restaurant in the city and I said, "we're going to Pita Pit."
We walked in and over to the counter. I ordered my chicken breast pita and the two medium drinks that made us elligible for the coupon usage and Bridget spouted, "I just want water, I don't need a drink." I explained that we had to get the drinks to use the coupon and she got this strange look on her face as the guy stated the obvious, "uh...you can still get water with a drink cup." Gee...thanks, dude.
Ironically she walked to the drink station and attempted to get some lemonade, but alas, it had run out giving her nothing but water. No problem, right? (especially since she "wanted" water in the first place.) Nope. She told the guy, "yeah your pop machine is broken. Everything is flat."
The guy appologized and offered to fix the problem and she said, "no, it's fine. I guess I'll just drink water," in such a way that it seemed a little...mean.
I laughed at the table when I saw her return again to the drink station and gather some ice tea! She walked to the table and sat down flustered by her troubles. I informed her that she might want to be a little nicer when telling someone their machine is broken but she insisted she sounded pleasant. After praying, I began to tell her that I think she'd been a little over-critical this morning and that she needed to be a little more considerate.
Falling on deaf ears my complaints vanished in the air and silence once again filled the Pita Pit. Taking another huge bite of her pita, Bridget sent sauce all over her hands and reached for the napkins at the middle of the table. After crumpling up every good napkin we had left, her hand returned to its place on the pita unabated. Yeah, she wishes.
As her hand tried to clear the top of her fully loaded 20 oz styrofoam cup of iced tea, it hit a snag. A straw. In the blink of an eye every ounce of her drink was in her lap, on her sweater, and eventually in her chair as it soaked through. In another instant shorter than the first, I burst into a belly laugh unmatched in neither volume, nor duration as I pointed with vindication at her sopping pants. Standing in shock she wimpered, "can we leave?"
We gathered our stuff and walked out to the laughter of not only me, but the register guy too. Watching Bridget struggle into the car and whine about her freezing cold pants, I simply said, "maybe you'll think twice before being so critical in the future." She just kept her bottom lip stuck out. So, I just kept laughing.
Caught off gaurd by the question, I answered, "uh...what do you mean?"
She came back saying, "You seemed mad last night when you left."
I was amazed by her complete misunderstanding of my body language and tried to inform her that I was in fact tired, since the stupid movie, RENT, was more than 2 hours long!
She retorted that I need to learn to be tired in a nicer way.....whatever that means.
We got to church and hopped out of the car, scurrying to the front doors. The trollies had stopped running for quite some time so we walked (not holding hands since she told me I'm an angry tired person). Continuing in the awkward, not-quite-a-run-walk, Bridget offered some suggestions to my "lifeless" ambulation. According to her, my arms hang to my side like a pair of summer sausages when I walk. So, as a result, I begin flailing my arms in a passive agressive protest to her criticism.
She then continued, adding that I never wear my jackets correctly on the peaks of my shoulders. Apparently they're "always too far back."
Feeling my heart squish between the toes of the foot of suggestive criticism, I sauntered into church holding her hand with a red rover grip (thanks Dane Cook).
Leaving church she asked me, "why don't you sing louder? You look like a limp pickle during worship."
The reason was I didn't know any of the songs and I always feel like an idiot if I think I know the notes and belt them out, only to find that I don't when the person in front of me turns their head in a reflexive cringe. Needless to say, I don't think she believed me.
Driving out of the parking lot she blurted, "Don't run over these people," when I was like 50 feet from them. Then, "are you going to stop," as I glided up to a stopped car at the stoplight. And then, while coming to a stop at the light at 6th and Western, she yelled again because I opened the door to spit a loogie and momentarily forgot to hold the brake. (I was actually pretty close to hitting the car in front of us but that doesn't matter right now) As I began to make an excuse, she asked me why I was driving so bad. (Understand I was driving the same way I always do, she's just weirding out for no reason.) So I told her I thought she was mistaken and that I was actually doing a pretty good job of chauffering her around.
We then started talking about what to eat. I offered the tuna helper I brought with me and she wrinkled her nose at the mere thought. I asked her what she wanted to do and she said, "I don't care, whatever you want to do." So I again offered the tuna helper. She answered, "OK, I'll just find something at the house, because I don't want to eat tuna helper." Uh..... I thought it was whatever I wanted to do.
OK, so I asked her if she had any coupons. Yes, she did. I asked where to. She rattled off almost every restaurant in the city and I said, "we're going to Pita Pit."
We walked in and over to the counter. I ordered my chicken breast pita and the two medium drinks that made us elligible for the coupon usage and Bridget spouted, "I just want water, I don't need a drink." I explained that we had to get the drinks to use the coupon and she got this strange look on her face as the guy stated the obvious, "uh...you can still get water with a drink cup." Gee...thanks, dude.
Ironically she walked to the drink station and attempted to get some lemonade, but alas, it had run out giving her nothing but water. No problem, right? (especially since she "wanted" water in the first place.) Nope. She told the guy, "yeah your pop machine is broken. Everything is flat."
The guy appologized and offered to fix the problem and she said, "no, it's fine. I guess I'll just drink water," in such a way that it seemed a little...mean.
I laughed at the table when I saw her return again to the drink station and gather some ice tea! She walked to the table and sat down flustered by her troubles. I informed her that she might want to be a little nicer when telling someone their machine is broken but she insisted she sounded pleasant. After praying, I began to tell her that I think she'd been a little over-critical this morning and that she needed to be a little more considerate.
Falling on deaf ears my complaints vanished in the air and silence once again filled the Pita Pit. Taking another huge bite of her pita, Bridget sent sauce all over her hands and reached for the napkins at the middle of the table. After crumpling up every good napkin we had left, her hand returned to its place on the pita unabated. Yeah, she wishes.
As her hand tried to clear the top of her fully loaded 20 oz styrofoam cup of iced tea, it hit a snag. A straw. In the blink of an eye every ounce of her drink was in her lap, on her sweater, and eventually in her chair as it soaked through. In another instant shorter than the first, I burst into a belly laugh unmatched in neither volume, nor duration as I pointed with vindication at her sopping pants. Standing in shock she wimpered, "can we leave?"
We gathered our stuff and walked out to the laughter of not only me, but the register guy too. Watching Bridget struggle into the car and whine about her freezing cold pants, I simply said, "maybe you'll think twice before being so critical in the future." She just kept her bottom lip stuck out. So, I just kept laughing.
posted by Toby Rockefeller at 2:21 PM
1 comments
