Could be the lack of alcohol or the full moon, or perhaps the dog poop I stepped in wearing my good Gucci sandals, but all I know is, I’d like to smack somebody, starting with Frank the super, who said I probably need a new refrigerator.
On Monday, after having to feed him to get him upstairs, said, “It’s con-den-sen-shon, ya know, cause of the yooo-mid-adee.
I’ll give him condescension.
Tuesday, he said, after checking it again like a doctor making a house call, “I’m pa-sative, it’s only tempa-rary.”
Today? “Yooo need a neeew one.” I’d like to give him a new one, since he’s built like a Frigidaire himself.
Yeah, I know that’s not nice…I DON’T CARE!
Is it just me, or is it always something, to quote the late, great Gilda Radner. Putting out fires seems to be my new specialty. Peace, I swear, is becoming extinct, like the eagle and jock straps.
We mustn’t leave out big hearts.
That’s the other thing, I’m tired of mine being the size of Kansas. I’m constantly helping someone who looks at me like I’m crazy. The thing about consciousness is, once you avail yourself to it, you own it, like an adopted dog. There’s no turning back, so when I see that soul in a wheelchair who can’t make it up the curb, I stop to give him a shove. So what I miss the train that will make me late, so when I finally get to my appointment, the bitch at the desk, will give me attitude then make me wait an hour.
Makes you wonder, was Joan of Arc, Robin Hood and Lassie ever late?
I’m the only one I know who stops by the way. Everyone else is smarter and doing much better than I am.
I’m a nice girl, I’m told. Yeah, one with a fat super who’s always hungry, a leaky refrigerator and shit on her shoes she can’t scrape off.
“What’s that smell?”
“Ya wanna smack? Cause I’ve got one right here, with your name on it.