Labor day, sweet sweet labor day weekend.

Let all the children go back to school, I say. It’s good for them.

I was in the grocery store today, with a cartful. I got in a particularly slow line, due to multiple price checks, but that’s ok. I had a dr pepper, I was doing well. I wasn’t in any hurry. When I finally got close enough, I walked around the other end of my cart and started unloading. That’s when the two little girls queued up behind me.

You know how it is extremely rude to stand too close to someone when they are at the ATM? Well, is it just me, or is it also rude to walk up to someone else’s cart, and take hold of the handle bar, when they’ve got their open purse sitting right there in the child seat, wallet sitting on top? I think it is. I think that my personal space includes my shopping cart and it’s contents, when I am grocery shopping. And getting that close to my wallet, is, technically, in my dance space.

Then she started moving the cart back and forth ever so slightly, but enough to knock it into me repeatedly. These were female brats, in the 9 to 11 age range, with fists full of candy. And they kept sighing, loudly. And saying, “This line is so SLOW. It’s going to take FOREVER! and WE only have 4 or 5 things.”

And then looking at me.

To which I can only reply with a head tilt and look that my mom calls The Look, walk back around, take control of my cart and continue unloading as slowly as I can.

Get in the mother fucking “15 Items or less” land, candy lovers.

One day I am going to be an old lady. And I am going to have a mother fucking lawn. And those mother fucking kids will tramp all over it. It will be my job to stand on my porch and shake my fist at them. My mother fucking fist.