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Monday, May. 03, 2004 - 2:42 P.M.

I do not like it when people are mean, abusive or neglectful to children. Their own or others. Therefore, the story I�m about to tell, while it does have humorous moments, is sad when taken as a whole.

A couple of years ago my husband and I made a run to Michael�s. For those of you who don�t know, Michael�s is a craft supply store. Men, you may be wondering how I got my husband to accompany me to Michael�s. The simple answer is, I promised him food afterward.

My very good friend, tothefloor, can vouch for what I�m about to say. My husband? Funny man. Solid, trustworthy, good baby daddy and hardworking as well. But really funny. For instance, upon hearing me bitch and moan about a co-worker who constantly complained about the state of the bathroom she used (read: her boss peed on the seat. a lot.), his advice to me was, �Tell her to clean the motherfucker.� See? Funny.

We pull into the parking lot of Michael�s and park beside a Volvo sedan. Because I covet one of my very own, I was in the process of ogling said Volvo when I spotted a baby in the backseat of the car. Asleep in a car seat. By itself. With all the windows rolled up. Alone. No adults present. I was mortified. And outraged. To be completely honest about this story, please note that it was nighttime, springtime and neither too hot nor too cold.

Me: What should we do? Should we call the police?

Funny man: I don�t know. Why don�t we just wait here and watch over the baby until someone comes out.

Me: Have you met me? You want me to stand out here getting more furious by the second until whoever is responsible for this child comes out of that store and I go crazy on them?

FMan: Hmm. Right. I�ll go inside and have the owner of the car paged.

Me: No. I�d rather confront them. Let�s just watch over the baby.

FMan: What if this person is 6�8� and a mass of muscle? What�re you gonna do then?

Me: Sick you on him.

FMan: Ready to rumble, Girl. (�Girl� is his pet name for me. Funny and inventive, right?)

We wait around for maybe ten minutes, maybe a little less. The second this woman steps out of Michael�s and begins to cross the parking lot, I know it�s the mother. I know because she�s dressed to kill and she has a presence about her. A presence that screams, �I am too good for all of you simple people. I�ll do what I please and I really don�t think I�ll ever be punished for it or there�s anything you can do about it.� You know those kind of people, right? She sees us standing by her car. She knows what�s up. She knows why we�re standing there.

Me: This your car? This your baby?

Her: Yes. I know what you�re going to say. So don�t bother. Mind your own business.

Me: Impressive. Because I really don�t know what to say. I�m furious. How could you leave�

Her: Look, the windows are rolled up. The doors are locked.

Me: Are you completely stupid? Please have your tubes tied immediately. Lady, maybe it escaped your notice, but windows are made of glass. They�re breakable. Locks are pretty worthless at that point, aren�t they?

Her: You have no right to tell me how to raise my child. Who the hell do you think you are? You don�t know anything about me. Just leave me alone.

Me: I�m telling you because that baby can�t tell you. Does your husband know you leave your baby alone in the car? What was in Michael�s that was so damn important you had to�

Her: You bitch. He was asleep and I didn�t want to wake him up. Just go away. Go away!

FMan: Bitch? Why don�t you suck my�

aaaaaand, she slammed her car door shut. Think she knew what Funny Man was going to say?

After her initial spying of us by her car she did not look at us again. She walked the distance between the storefront and her car never once looking us in the eye. Know what that says to me? It says, �I have problems of mega proportions. I give off a superior air, but I know I have issues.� Entire subscription, more like. With automatic renewals.

Anyhow, we got her license plate number and we did call the police. I don�t know what ever happened.

I can only tell you what I wish would have happened. And it involves bamboo shoots, hot oils and one pissed off mother.

6 comments so far

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� Purplecigar

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