Somewhere a Mosque

Bebe and I have this saying, visual even, we use whenever we get a little too petty.  A little too catty to our fellow man, or wo-man to be more specific.

We like to assume that, as the plot in that shitty Aston Kutcher movie “The Butterfly Effect” suggests, any hateful energy we give off here to people is blowing up mosques somewhere overseas.

We are doing our part to stop the war, fellow Americans, have no fear.

However, I can’t help it if a few car bombs go off because some lady cuts me off in traffic and flips ME off while her kid is jumping around the backseat freely like he’s on a mini-trampoline at Gymboree. Or if a fellow mom makes me feel like a bad mother because my kid isn’t already crocheting the alphabet onto baby blankets while reciting the Gettysburg Address.  Or even if two random people on the street ask me how far along I am 5 months after giving birth while I’m trying to enjoy some ice cream.

So I apologize in advance but a few buildings are going to get blown up from my outbursts here.  I can only do so much.  Help me help you.

That being said, whether you have one of those “Support Our Troops” magnet ribbons plastered on the trunk of your Corsica or not, choose your words carefully when approaching me holding an ice cream cone.

You have a lot of people’s lives at stake.  Most importantly, your own.



1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. Trackback: Small wonders « The Crab Bucket

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