I have anger issues. Not as much as I used to when I was young and dumb...but still a significant amount. I embarrassed the heck out of myself recently when out shopping with my best girlfriend and her daughter, my God-daughter, by throwing a straight up hissy fit in the shoe department of a sizable department store.
You know how it is when you're shopping for shoes. You walk around touching, looking, stepping over boxes of shoes people didn't want and being harassed by salespeople who think you're going to be a big sale. Well...I like to take my time and pick everything out at once and then give all of them to the salesperson so I don't have to keep getting up and down. I wasn't at a store where I'm a regular (which was probably my first problem) so I used the first person who approached me. I gave him 5 shoes and asked for them in a size 8.5. Simple right?
Yeah...you know me well enough by now to know if I'm writing about it...it darn sure wasn't simple. :)
Well, we sat down and were chatting with another lady who was trying on shoes. We had to move shoes and boxes out of the chairs in order that we have seats...but hey...that's cool. After 15 minutes of waiting, I walked up to the register to ask where Mr. Shoeman was. Oh...he's in the back I was told. He'll be right out. I walk back to my seat. 10 minutes later, I go back again...Mr. Shoeman still hadn't surfaced. I asked the ringer-upper person should I go in the back myself and get my dang shoes. Ms. Ringer-upper said no...she'd go. I returned to my seat.
By this time my foot is shaking back and forth, back and forth. My God-daughter is talking to me and I'm answering her in a responsible adult voice. "No sweetheart, that's not how you pronounce that word although that was a really great try since you didn't know the vowel was silent." But in my mind I'm seeing red spots and there is a gentle roaring in my ears because I'm FURIOUS that I'm still sitting there waiting on Mr. Shoeman to find the fuggin shoes. Outward, I'm smiling at my God-daughter and am casually seated with my legs crossed, but there were signs that only someone as close as my best girl-friend would pick up on. The slight squint to my already slanted eyes. The rapid shaking of my left foot. The way I keep passing my hand over my face trying to wring out the stress that has collected and is about to blow. She sharply looks at me and suggests we leave. I should have left because 15 minutes later Mr. Shoeman shows up with my shoes and the unthinkable happens. I try on the first shoe and it doesn't fit. I'm an 8.5. Have been for a long time. That's the size I fuggin asked for. The shoes Mr. Shoeman brought out to me were all a 7.5. A whole size smaller than my damn foot.
Before I could catch myself. Before I could take the time to think how my imminent behavior would change me in my God-daughter's eyes....I went clean the hell off. I jumped up and kick the tower of shoes across the floor yelling..."I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS SHIT! I HAVE BEEN SITTING HERE FOR 35 FRICKING MINUTES AND YOU BRING ME THE WRONG SIZE FRICKING SHOES? WHAT THE HELL IS THE DAMN PROBLEM??? YOU HARASS ME 5 TIMES SO YOU COULD BE THE ONE TO HELP ME....BUT YOU DON'T GET IT FRICKING RIGHT? AFTER I'VE SAT HER FOR 35 DAMN MINUTES???? NOT ONE OF THESE SHOES IS MY SIZE? WHY IN THE WORLD WOULD YOU THINK IT'S OKAY TO BRING A SIZE 7.5 TO A WOMAN WITH AN 8.5 FOOT? IDIOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" I grabbed my bag and stomped off kicking shoes and boxes out of my way clearing a path, my girl and God-daughter following close behind. No one has said anything. We walk out of the door and I'm still seething, my blood boiling and at the bottom of the escalator I noticed the stricken look on my God-daughter's face. Aw shit...I just showed my ass in front of my baby girl. *sigh*
"Jazzmin, I apologize for behaving that way in front of you. It was completely uncalled for and not something that I ever want you to do. Ms. Monica has trouble maintaining her anger and I promise to work on it. I'm so sorry." I sheepishly look over at her mother waiting to see anger clouds about to erupt over her face because of my behavior. But wait...THIS HEFFA LOOKS LIKE SHE IS ABOUT TO BURST OUT LAUGHING! She doesn't say anything...doesn't even look at me. We finish shopping and drive home.
The next day, she calls me and is HOWLING...I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU KICKED THE BOXES! YOU WENT OFF! YOU SURE YOU OKAY? GIRRRRRRRRRRRLLLLLLL THAT WAS TOO DAMN FUNNY! Whew...Jazzmin kept asking me...Is Ms. Monica okay? I thought she was going to hit that man. Oooooooh..that was sooooooooooo funny. That poor man looked like he wanted to crawl in a hole. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! You are soooooooooooooooo stoopit!
*sigh* Now I have given this heffa more ammunition with which to heckle me for the rest of my life. Go me. She brings it up every couple of weeks or so. Lawd, lawd, lawd. She keeps it up and I'm going to go over to her house and kick her shoes around.