*We've got tits! That's right. A&M has a female writer complete with anatomically correct parts. Enjoy Caity's time of the month, a segment written for the female side, from the female side of Apples and Moustaches.
By Caity
I'll be the first to admit that, at present, I am right below Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton on the list of individuals most ill-suited to rear a child. This, however, does not stop me from having certain opinions on the subject. Thus, when my Memorial Day festivities (Coors Light and the pool) were crudely interrupted by a small child with decidedly different conceptions of propriety than my own, I was concerned. Here's how it went down:
Inclement weather Memorial Day morning tabled our plans to spend the day doing hoodrat stuff on my friends' boat, so when a patch of blue sky opened up that afternoon, we packed the cooler, hauled ass to the pool and posted up. I was minding my own business and carrying on a very adult conversation about Best Buy's first quarter earnings report (seriously!), when a roughly 2-year-old gentleman paddled up to me in his bitchin' tube and floaties (already I'm jealous I can't rock this look anymore), gathered a big mouthful of pool water and spit it right in my face. He attacked from the side as I was mid-sentence, so a little baby-spit-filled chlorine water made it right into my mouth. I think we all know I've had worse in there, so I really wasn't all that upset about it. I did, however, feel a certain sense of civic duty to point out to this very small future member of the body politic that, in most cases not involving consenting adults, it is considered poor form to spit fluid into the mouth of another person. I turned to the little guy and said, "Well, that was not very polite." This kid had a tight game, though, because he looked right at me, smiled the biggest, cutest smile I'd ever seen and said, "I'm gonna show you a BIG splash!" I was puddy.
Now, his mommies saw the whole thing go down, and the larger one was out of her chair quicker than you could say, "Here comes a big bitch." She said, "What are you thinking making me get up from my vodka drink?! Get over here!" Clearly this wasn't his first rodeo, because he took his sweet time (about 5 minutes of stern words and threats) making it to the side of the pool. I'm sitting there thinking, Oh, shit, kid; here it comes. We've all been there, and I'm not going to lie and say it doesn't suck. Just squeeze your ass cheeks together, bear down on that there diving ring and consider this round of public humiliation practice for middle school. When she finally got him out though, all she said was, "Come sit down over here and we're going to eat." I'm not complaining that the kid didn't get his ass beat, but a few choice comments hammering home the point that you don't fucking spit on people would have been refreshing. I, as an individual not charged with making sure he doesn't end up torturing cats and eventually telling some big girl to put the lotion on the skin, am allowed to think the incident was cute; his mommies, in my humble opinion, are not.
But what the fuck do I know? I thought it was OK to let my 5-year-old cousin watch Scream and the poor kid had nightmares for months, so maybe I'm not the arbiter of responsible parenting. I was seriously questioning my judgment until my knocked-up friend with whom I had been speaking said, "Let me tell you the difference between me and Earth Mother McGee over there. I would have been in that pool fully clothed and dragged his ass out. Then, he would have gotten whipped three times: once for spitting on a stranger; once for making me get my clothes wet; and once for interrupting my cocktail." Praise BE, sister!
Naturally, this brings me to how I found myself in a verbal altercation with a tattooed hippy fuck at PetSmart yesterday.
(Side note: Mom, if you're reading this, I have a confession: I have a dog. I'm sorry. )
I was on my way back from the gym a few months ago when my friend and I saw what looked like a really cute rat on the side of the road. We pulled over, and saw that it was, in fact, not a rat, but the most adorable puppy ever. He looked like a baby panda bear, but was completely malnourished and had a wormy belly. It was a Sunday and all the proper vets were closed, so we took the little guy to PetSmart and got him all fixed up. My friend already has a dog who does not play well with others and I'm only human, so the wormy little rat was coming home with me.
High on visions of responsible pet ownership, I pre-paid for a care plan that supposedly covered all of his shots and neutering. Flash forward to yesterday, and me arguing with the front desk girls because it's time for him to be neutered, and the puppy that was previously "definitely a Pit Bull" and that "might get to 45 pounds" is, at 5 months old, 40 pounds and quite clearly a Great Dane. The point is, now they're trying to horse fuck me on the price of getting him neutered. Here I am, in the middle of telling the vet that I don't give a shit what his certificate from the University of Tijuana Online Veterinary School says, he's not getting me to pay $150 for something I already paid for, when this douchebag walks in with his boxer. The boxer barks at Mr. Darcy (shut up!), and Mr. Darcy barks back. This goes on for what seemed like an eternity, with the boxer's limp dicked owner not doing a damn thing, and me telling Mr. Darcy "No! Sit! I said, no! Sit!" After about a minute of this I'd had enough and swatted him on his ass to make him pay attention. All of a sudden, homeslice wakes up from ogling his Birkenstocks long enough to yell from about 15 yards away, "Hey, that's not cool! You can't do that." Really, asshole? 'Cause I just did, and you'll notice whose dog is sitting quietly at present. I'm over it at this point though, and, unable to take the high road, yell back across the PetSmart check out area, "Fuck off, Cesar Millan! You'll thank me when he doesn't bite you."
That's real talk. Also, I quit my waitress job, so if anyone is in the Atlanta area and needs a baby and/or pet sitter, I'm available! Please leave your contact info in the comments section, and know that I'll need a stocked fridge when I get there.
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