Guys, something embarrassing happened to me yesterday.
I blame lack of sleeping and maternal instinct.
I was on my way from a coffee morning at my friend’s place and not far from her house was a Laura Ashley Home store. Having just received some gorgeous photos of my girls from the photo studio, I was obviously desperate to find decent frames to put them in. ‘Maybe’, I thought, ‘I will just swing by the Laura Ashley shop, since it is right there’. Have a quick glance if I like any of their picture frames, you know.
Of course, there were no parking spaces in the shop’s designated parking area. However, there were other shops right next door, with their parking bays. Knowing I would only be a few minutes, and not wanting to drag all 8 kilos of my baby girl in the car seat too far, I cheekily parked in the neighbouring bay. I was in the shop for a few minutes and returned to the car almost straight away.
As I placed the car seat near the driver’s door, getting the keys out of my coat pocket, a car pulled up from the road right next to me. It did occur to me, of course, that I was slightly in its way, but I assumed, naively perhaps, that it was obvious to the driver that I was only unlocking my door, and would be out of his way in a second.
I assumed, you see, that the driver was a decent gentleman who would wait A SECOND! before getting into his space. But oh, no. I was mistaken. He looked at me and kept driving-dangerously close to me and, most importantly, to my baby in her car seat.
I calmly placed the car seat in the car and strapped it in, while watching the man emerge from his vehicle.
Excuse me! I called out very politely, and he glanced in disbelief. He did not expect a foreign-looking woman with a baby to confront him. Little did he know.
'Was it really that difficult to wait an extra second while I unlocked my car?' I continued and he walked up to me, still refusing to believe what he was hearing.
'Excuse me?' He shouted back in his very proper English. Only Brits can make 'excuse me' sound like a perfect insult.
Ah, you asshole, I thought to myself. Did you not hear me properly? It is okay. I will repeat it, slightly louder.
'What would happen if you just waited a second instead of driving so close to my baby?' I asked again and the man started shaking inside.
'Did you go into that shop?' He pointed to the PC repairs business in front of us.
'Can you read what it says on the wall?' He continued in a bitchy voice. Meaning, I was parked in the wrong bay. Whoopie Doo! What a terrible crime. Like that justifies driving over my baby?
And then something snapped inside me, and my favourite word just escaped my mouth without any warning.
You know, I said, you are such an asshole!
You don’t look like an asshole, I added, but you sure act like one.
I paused for a second, getting into the car, and added, before slamming the door 'And probably a racist asshole, too!'
Don’t ask me why I called him a racist asshole. I have no idea. It just came out.
'Oh!' he shouted, glancing back quickly, 'I will tell my wife, she will be pleased that I don’t look like one!'
And with that, he ran away.
So yes, I called an older man an asshole on the street. Into his face. And you know what? It felt amazing.
There is something about this word that I just love. Of course, there could be many other words I could have used on that bastard. But somehow, this particular word is my favourite. I say it out loud and my pulse stabilises and the sun starts shining again.
I was not sure if Husband would approve of such common behaviour, and was pleasantly surprised when he supported me as I replayed the crime scene to him later on.
'You should have said you were going to call the police and report him for almost driving over your baby like that!' He said, and I thought That’s true! I should have, indeed. Instead of swearing impulsively and pointlessly like a child. But still... It felt good.