I would never intentionally harm anyone or destroy personal property. But I sometimes dream about it, in small day-dream bursts and then I pop back to my reality a few seconds later and laugh and deal with the shit in front of me like an adult instead of a cartoon character. But man. Wouldn’t that be awesome if we could handle some things like a cartoon character would?!

So, the next time at the mall someone parks so close to your car that you cannot even squeeze between the vehicles, much less open the door, you can reach into your clutch purse and pull out a ginormous can opener from the early 1950s and cut their car in half lengthwise and stack the passenger half on top of the driver’s half? That would be cool. But instead, you’ll enter from the passenger side of your car and awkwardly climb over the console in your SUV and probably knock the rear view mirror off of the windshield and curse the oblivious, selfish jackass who inconvenienced the crap out of you for the six mile drive home.

On those days when all of the kids want all of the things and talk all at one time and the phone is ringing and the teakettle is whistling and the neighbor’s dog has gotten out again and is barking  under your kitchen window, and your mind just jumps to throwing all of them- kids, teakettle, dog -into the back of your SUV (you know, the one with the rear view mirror that falls off every pothole because super glue really isn’t so super.) You drive as fast as you can and you, your kids, and the dog all have g-force face because you’re driving in cartoon-speeds. You slam on breaks and then peel all of them off of the windshield and back of the seats, use the ejector seats button on your cartoon dashboard, toss a bottle of water and a road map out of the sunroof and yell, “Meet you at home, Suckas!” and peel out with “Highway to Hell” by AC/DC blaring on the stereo. But in reality, of course, I just whistle loudly and yell, “SHUT UP!”

And that woman who takes up the whole shopping aisle with her buggy and won’t move left or right so that you can get past her, even when you say “excuse me” six times.  She’s the same person who sees you heading to the cashier with the shortest line and races you for the next spot in line, only you’re faster and get there first.  But she “accidentally” hits you in the ankle with her buggy overflowing with frozen dinners and snack items with 10-year expiration dates.  In my cartoon mind, I grab her around the throat and force feed her Twinkies and cheeze puffs until her eyes bulge out.  In reality, I shoot her a dirty look, followed by a condescending smile (since I beat her to the check out counter) and say, “I forgive you.”  That last part is really to live as an example to my teenagers and not because I really want to forgive her. I’m just doing my part to repopulate the planet with intelligent and polite functional adults. Clearly, HER mom missed that class.

At any rate, I think that this little peak into the “insanity that keeps me sane” may help other moms out there who worry that they are nuts because these little exercises tend to relax them. They certainly relax me for that brief nano-second that they flash through my mind.  That blip of bananas provides that little breath of respite that I need to make the RIGHT adult decisions. And it makes me laugh. Keep up the good work, y’all.

 

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