Hoe in the City
This morning I had to go downtown to our accountant's office to pick up our tax return. Today is the deadline for second extensions. His office is on the 19th floor of the tallest building in Knoxville (27 floors). The elevators always make me really dizzy because they go so fast. Every time I go downtown I get a little pang of anxiety. I'm just not a city girl, not even a small city. But I do harbor fantasies of having a loft/studio downtown because that seems so cool. If I ever win the lottery maybe I'll buy a loft apartment or a whole building to renovate.
Since I needed David's signature on the tax return we decided to have lunch together. We don't do that often because he usually eats lunch en route to a job instead of taking time to stop somewhere. He was working in West Knoxville so I drove out there to meet him at the Ice Chalet where he was dropping off some bills. I picked up some brochures on lessons so maybe I will take the kids if they are interested. We decided to go to the Olive Garden since we hadn't been there in a very long time. By the way, the Olive Garden is at the intersection where the red-light runner crashed into my Corvette in March. When I thought of that (we were in the Corvette) I told David, "Well, we'll be driving right through the intersection of pain." We got to the Olive Garden without incident and had a lovely lunch.
Two Kinds of Women
We walked back to the car and put down the top and got in. Then I looked up and thought, "Whoa, that truck is way too freakin' close to my car." I got out and sure enough, it was mashing in the front of my car. I'll admit I was about 3 inches over the line (the space in front of me was empty when we got there). I yelled to David, "That asshole hit my car." He got out and looked and said, "Pull back and see if there's any damage." I said, "No, if there is damage they won't believe that they did it. Go in the restaurant and get them to come out here." He saw that they had a sign with a phone number (Eddy's Tile & Natural Stone) on the side of the truck, so I handed him my phone and asked him to call it. He did and I could tell that whoever was on the other end was being an asshole because I heard David say, "Well, I really think you need to come out here and see it." David has a nice, authoritative voice when he needs too, unlike my too soft and childish voice even when I'm mad. He hung up and I asked, "Well, was he an asshole about it?" He said, "She was real bitchy sounding. She said that she was having her lunch (imagine a very snobby tone), but she's coming out here." Right off the bat she said, "I didn't do that." What? I sure as hell didn't drive my car into her truck. We got there first. Stupid bitch.
She said, "There's the line. You are over the line."
I said, "Being over the line doesn't give you the right to drive into my car."
She, "I didn't feel it. I didn't hit it. I didn't feel hitting anything."
Since when do people drive by feel?
David told me to pull it back. I told the snotty bitch that I wanted her to see it before I pulled out because it was my word against here's if there was any damage.
I pulled back and thankfully the nose cone wasn't cracked or scratched. Thankfully they make them out of flexible plastic that gives a little under those circumstances.
She continued spewing her snobbish, catty remarks as I was getting out of the car to look. She asked, "Do you want to call the police?"
I said, "No, it doesn't seem to be hurt."
She was so malicious and bitchy and would not accept that she was in the wrong. She said lots of hateful things to me and David and called us 'fatsos' (she should take a look at her rear end, it was all pocked and bumpy and saggy and nasty looking). She muttered something about 'not driving a Corvette (Aha! Jealous much?)' and about 'her lunch'. David had about as much as he could take so he reared back and kicked the steel bumper of her Dogde Ram (dark blue, extra cab, short bed -- I've very observant). It did nothing to it, but it was just the 'tit for tat' kind of outlet he needed. Well, she just screamed, "I'm calling the police! I'm called the police! I saw you do that!" We just laughed and took off. She might have gotten my tag number, but I'm sure she didn't really call. And what can they do anyway? She has no proof that he kicked it because it didn't even leave a foot print. STUPID BITCH.
So, fellas, any of my married male readers, I think you know what I mean when I say there are two kinds of women. There are Evil Bitches (Pitchforks) and Normal Women (Hoes et al). And you know what your wife is. If any of you are married to Evil Bitches/Pitchforks, I pity you. I pity the man who is married to the Tile Bitch, if she's still married even. Men who are married to Evil Bitches are embarrassed by their wives' behavior, but they are so under their control that they can't speak up. Men who are married to Evil Bitches don't buy their wives Corvettes. Evil Bitches are very jealous of Normal Women and the blessings they get by being nice. Women know if they are Evil Bitches or Normal Women. I know with 100% certainty that I'm a Normal Woman. I have bitchy moments, and sometimes whole days, but they pass. Evil Bitches are evil all the time to everyone they know. Women who know they are Evil Bitches don't care about anyone but themselves (and their lunch). Men rarely admit if they are married to an Evil Bitch, but men who are married to Normal Women are happy and emboldened and quick to defend them if threatened. David is my hero. Not because he kicked a truck, but because he was defending my honor.
To any Evil Bitches out there, don't underestimate a Normal Woman. And don't tread on her Karma. It comes back to you threefold.
My last words to the Tile Bitch as we drove away were, "I hope you get sick on your lunch."