By – Blissimo. Visit The Land Mass Known As “Bliss.” for original post.
I figured it out.
I am pretty much done with people invading my space. I saw a meme that said, “someone just honked to get me out of my parking space faster so now I have to sit here until both of us are dead.” I so relate to that.
I have done that.
Please don’t judge me, unless you truly admire me for that and want to speak publicly on it … then please, you have my blessing.
I have tried. I do try. I start my day with my polite, tolerant underwear strapped on but by midday, after being bumped and walked into, pushed and shoved . . . I am pretty much unstrapped and going commando.
Take sidewalks. You have people going each way. Logic says there are two traffic streams, divide the sidewalk in half, one side goes one way, the other side goes the opposite way. This allows the free movement of both sides and is fair. The only rule is, “keep to your side of the sidewalk.” I assure you I am not a rocket scientist even though I wear glasses, am wearing a white lab coat, and look incredibly intelligent. Oh ya, and the pointer … well … I think I was born with that. However, if you and your entire cheerleading squad are walking down the street together, side by side, taking up the WHOLE sidewalk, and you meet oncoming traffic . . . a collision is imminent. If someone is coming, you have to know that one of you needs to move over. It is not really fair to expect that one person coming the opposite way on THEIR side of the sidewalk, to step into the street and be hit by a bus. Just one of you. So that maybe instead of walking 12 abreast, you walk 11. I know you can do it. There has to be some intelligence to be able to understand how to rhyme words, doesn’t there? Someone? Please let’s not stereotype women in here.
After encounters with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, three very large families with 6 or more children and 4 prams, a marching band and numerous large groupings of Sumo wrestlers, I was done. I was clipped, bumped, smashed into, and twirled around. I walked around and side-stepped so many people that I probably added enough extra mileage to have walked half way across the country. And on top of that, you have the people who stop, right in the path of all oncoming traffic. They stop to chat, to check their purse, to fight, to decide where to have lunch and to elect a new cheerleading captain. Then there are those that just suddenly stop and you end up with whiplash from having to avoid hitting them. After a few hours of that, anything I choose to do in response comes under the heading of justifiable homicide and I will kill anyone who disagrees with me.
Once I snap I am done. I snap, I plant, and I stand. I was on the provincial champs girl’s football team. They can either die or move around me. Their choice. Cheerleaders … my ass …
Buffets – where everyone flows in one direction, except the woman who steps in front of the oncoming traffic and hugs the inner track, picking off what she wants. Polite people, still in possession of their polite underwear, step back and watch her grab the piece of roast beef their fork was poised for. I plant. I can spend hours looking at the desserts, deciding …. for no other reason than I saw her eyeing it and starting her move – in for the kill. She will have to go around and miss out on the puff pastries. I smile at her and hope she enjoys her jello – the only dessert left accessible to her. Why does an entire line of people give into her rudeness??
Grocery stores, same thing. I don’t care if they have a bigger trolley and are assuming the inside track bumping off people as they go and then blocking the way for me to reach the milk. I want milk and this person denies me. Any other person in the store, once they notice someone is waiting, usually apologizes or asks if they are blocking the way and they move their trolley a bit too share the item. These people don’t realize there is anyone else on planet earth besides them. I watch. I know they are going to want the butter and it is completely contained behind me and my shopping cart. And the stand-off begins. I see you and I am not moving. Best call your therapist.
I hate it when my husband shows up and drags me off to the check-out lane asking me if I have lost my mind. I thought men were supposed to be putty in your hand when you hand them your underwear in public. Mine just made me go sit in the car and wait for him anyway.
But it is not just the bumping people, it is everyone who stands too close to you, invading your personal space. Like trying to fill out your personal information on the doctors form at the front desk and you can’t write on the one line because some ladies hair is draped over it because she is leaning over your shoulder to read what you are writing.
And what about the people that crowd you at the checkout when you have to input your pin number? Or in an elevator – just two of you and the person has to stand almost touching you?
No matter where my hubby parks, people park next to him … even when there are 132 empty lanes between him and any other cars when he parks. If we pick the table at the far end of the restaurant, away from everyone else … the nest 8 parties that come in will all sit next to us. If we sit in a row way in the back of the theatre … 100 people show up to sit all around us leaving the rest of the theatre almost empty. What a waste of awesome lipstick and velcro closed clothing.
Nowadays I just insist we both take our hula hoops with us when we go out. It is amazing how people back away when you are hula hooping. It may be a thin tube of neon plastic but people fear it. I am pretty sure that is why the back off, they don’t want to be accidently hit? Because it can’t be that we look stupid because we both have high IQ’s and we can hula hoop, let me tell you. It is perfect when both of us are doing it but also works well if one writes, or grabs the milk, while the other hula hoops people out of the way.
I made suspenders and a brace that attaches to our underwear so that we can just secure the perimeter of our space. Once an Asian man was standing inside the hula hoop with my hubby but once hubby started hula hooping and really thrusting his hips … the man left. I have no idea how he got in there … but ewwwww!
The only problem is, wearing a hula hoop definitely makes your ass look fatter, but then, can you really put a price on privacy?
MESH HEAD: CATWA
EYES: ** [BAMBOO
] – ANITA EYES
Madison Pearl Earrings – White Pearl
: Anisha ruffle blouse (maitreya) *ivory*
: Ziya tiered skirt (maitreya) *pink-print*