Blackhumouristpress's Blog

December 28, 2015

Christmas Apocalypse or Merry Christmas, Bitch

 

“So what is it I’m getting for your Aunt Lucy?”

“Candles or doilies or something.  Buy it from Sears so that if she doesn’t like it, she can go to the one by her and return it.”

“Sears?  Is there still a Sears?  I AM TALKING ON THE PHONE RIGHT NOW!  WHEN MOMMY IS ON THE PHONE, YOU DO NOT SCREAM!”

Angela was feeling overwhelmed.  She was last minute shopping for her husband’s Aunt Lucy who she had never met because she is old and lives near Cleveland.  She is going into assisted care near the family and will be at the holiday dinner.  It became Angela’s job to find something for Lucy.  Angela’s two toddlers both woke in the middle of the night hurling chunks of undigested pizza from a holiday party.  Was it the pizza?  Was it germs on their hands?  Nobody knew for sure.  What Angela knew was that at about 3:30 am, her two little ones were covered in vomit.  So was their bedding, the My Little Pony carpet and their pajamas.  It took a solid hour to clean up and get them back to sleep.  Angela’s sleep was done.   Her husband who was still working asked his wife to just pop over to the mall and just get something.  Angela was supposed to make a pie for the family’s get together.  To make a pie now would not be possible.  It would be her husband’s job to get a pie on the way home from work.

I WON’T HAVE TIME TO MAKE A PIE.  PLEASE PICK ONE UP FOR YOUR FAMILY ON THE WAY HOME FROM WORK, PLEASE.

Angela was scoping out bath beads with hand cream and had no idea if Lucy took baths or showers.  She thought about it- do old people lay down in bathtubs filled with water and then they can’t get up or slip around like greased pigs and get hurt?  Maybe just showers with grab bars.  Bath beads may not be good.   Old people could burn down the house with shaky hands and candles.  It will just have to be grumpy cat slippers.  In the check out line, Martha, Angela’s three year old daughter took her stick from the sucker she received at the bank and poked her younger brother Bob in the right eye.  There was that delayed fifteen seconds of silence while the smaller child lost it’s breath momentarily and was building the crying to a pitch that would grab the attention of everyone around.  A text came in from Angela’s husband.

YOU DIDN’T MAKE ONE ALREADY?  I THOUGHT YOU BOUGHT ALL THE SHIT FOR IT YESTERDAY.  NO?

Bob roared and held his eye.  Angela grabbed Martha’s hand and slapped it hard.  The bare skin could be heard by those around them.  Martha cried as hard and as loudly as her younger brother.  Angela’s husband was annoyed by no return text and so he called.  He called three times in a row.  Angela answered firmly.

“BUY A FUCKING PIE!  IS THAT SO FUCKING HARD FOR YOU?  I’M BUY SOME BULLSHIT FOR YOUR FUCKING AUNT THAT I NEVER MET AND I HAVE TWO SICK KIDS CRYING.  DO YOU HEAR THOSE KIDS?  THOSE ARE YOUR KIDS MAKING A SCENE RIGHT NOW AT SEARS.  YES, SEARS…  AFTER THE VOMITING AND NO SLEEP, I NOW AM DOING THINGS FOR YOU.  PIE! BUY IT! LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE AND DO ONE SMALL THING FOR ME!”

People were staring at the woman who was unhinged.  Angela pulled her two children up by the arms.  They were crying even harder.  An old woman who was entering the store bent down and yelled into the faces of the two small children.

“Shut up!”

The two tired and sick toddlers stopped crying.  They looked at the stranger and wondered why she yelled in their face.  The whole thing was intriguing to the small children.

“This country is going to hell because people like you cannot control their children.  They grow up to be punks, smoke pot, drink and go to jail and why?  Because mommy and daddy have no control.  Give your damn kids boundries before they grow up to kill you, miss.”

The old woman walked off feeling as though she had righted a wrong.  Angela no sooner got her kids in the car than they both passed out in their car seats.  Meanwhile Angela’s husband sent her a text that said he had picked up a pumpkin pie.  Angela hates pumpkin pie and her husband after seven years should have known that.  If he listened more, paid attention more, he would know after so many years that his wife disliked pumpkin pie at best.

YOU WENT TO HOUSE OF PIES AND COULD HAVE BOUGHT ANY PIE IN THE WORLD AND BOUGHT THE ONE PIE THAT I ABSOLUTELY HATE.  DID YOU DO THIS ON PURPOSE OR DO YOU REALLY HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA AFTER SO MANY YEARS THAT I HATE PUMPKIN PIE.  IT’S CHRISTMAS NOT THANKSGIVING!  WHY PUMPKIN?  I’M SO FUCKING MAD AND DISAPOINTED RIGHT NOW.  I BOUGHT SOMETHING FOR YOUR AUNT AND YOU BUY ME A PUMPKIN PIE.  FUCK YOU!

Angela’s husband called her an ungrateful bitch and told her to get real and other things to further stoke the flames of displeasure on a day made for family and giving.  The texting went back and forth for about fifteen minutes and got to the point where threats were being made to not attend the family meal and possibly taking off for the night with the kids.  Just when Angela was going to send the threat of all threats to her husband, the old woman who yelled at her children and verbally chastised her, came walking towards her in the parking lot.  Angela got out car and ripped the knit hat off of the woman’s head and dropped it in a puddle.  She then grabbed the bags from her hands and whipped them as far as she could.  She then smiled at the woman and calmly spoke to her with her index finger in the old woman’s face.

“You thought you were teaching someone a lesson by putting your nose in their ass.  You better think long and hard before getting involved in someone else’s life.  I’ve been up since long before the sun cleaning up vomit, blankets and pajamas.  I was sent out to buy stuff for people I don’t even know with two sick and tired kids while my husband bought a piece of shit pumpkin pie.  Be lucky I don’t own a fucking gun, you stupid old bitch and remember to never fuck with me again… Got it? …  Merry Christmas, bitch.”

Angela drove home with an eye constantly in the rearview mirror.  She had thoughts of cops putting her in handcuffs while the old woman fingering her from the back of a squad car.  She envisioned a large black woman with all the empathy of a fast food counter worker, taking her children from her and placing them in the care of the state until suitable foster parents could be found.  Angela’s mind raced.  She felt so badly about letting her anger get the worst of her on Christmas Eve day.  Angela made it home to find her husband standing in the driveway nervously with another cake.  It was a tiramisu.  Angela saw the tiramisu and began crying.  She walked up and hugged her husband and thanked him for going back and buying the alternate pastry.  They carried the sleeping children into the house and plopped down on the couch.  Angela’s husband kissed his frazzled wife on top of the head as she sighed and dried tears of frustration away.  Her husband said nothing.  After a minute, Angela took a deep breath and softly made a declaration.

“Sometimes… I think I can really be a bitch.”

And the rest of the day went mostly good.  And maybe that’s just how it goes for most people.

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