Walking with three dogs is a slow business thanks to the generally unsynchronized sniffing, and lifting, and squatting. While we were stopped for a squat, a woman messing around in the trunk of her car shined a flashlight in my face. I tried to assume it was an accident, but then she did it again. And again. We had to pass her to get home, although to be completely honest, we would have gone over there anyway, because I was really annoyed, and because it’s everyone’s duty to stand up to inappropriate flashlight behavior when they see it.
And as we approach she shines it in my face again. Now, we are not out in the country. There is the ambient light that one gets in any city, not to mention the actual streetlamps. It is not that damn dark.
Me: “Could you not shine that thing in my face?” I’m thinking: What the fuck is your problem?
Her: “Sorry, Ma’am, I couldn’t see who was there. It looked like you were hiding behind a tree.” Although she technically said the word “sorry,” it was not in any way an actual apology. And in case you missed it, she called me Ma’am.
Me: “I’m just walking my dogs.” This is a phenomenon she should be familiar with since there are probably almost as many dogs as people in my neighborhood.
Her: “Well, I’m sorry, Ma’am.” (Again not being sorry at all.) “I have bad eyes and I can’t see at night.”
Me: “Well, maybe you shouldn’t be out at night.” Grown women who are afraid of the not-really-dark should stay inside always.
Her: “Do you know how many times my car has been broken into?” Probably never while you were guarding it with that wicked flashlight.
Me: “Well, it wasn’t me any of those times.” Is she implying I’m a car burglar?
Her: “And did you pick up your dog shit?” Not that it’s any of your business but…
Me: “Yeah. Do you want to inspect it?”
Her: “Ugh. No, I don’t think so.”
I’m thinking: Are you sure? Because I’d be happy to throw it at your head.
Her: “I can tell just by looking at you that you’re the kind of person who doesn’t pick up their dog shit.” That is so judgmental. And so incorrect, since…
Me: “I’m holding a bag of dog shit right now.” Don’t call her a cunt. Don’t.
Me again: “Why don’t you stop being so judgmental and fat?” Dodged the C-word. Good for you.
Her: “I’m pregnant.”
And now we’re in a bad sitcom.
Her again: “Why are you such a cunt?” It’s called the moral high ground, lady. Come join me.
Me: “It’s too bad that whoever knocked you up doesn’t care enough to come help you with that box.” There was a box. It was big. She dropped it, which was probably really embarrassing. I may have enjoyed that part.
Her: “Your dogs are ugly.” Which is ridiculous. My dogs are beautiful. She was projecting.
So that was my night. And I hope she’s still fighting with her husband or whatever about how he didn’t help her with the box. Other than that, I’ve let it go.