26 February 2012

For some odd reason, the cats like to have their litter box periodically cleaned out, and since tonight is trash night and all the gross things get taken to the curb for the garbage fairies to come magically whisk it all away at 6:30 in the freaking morning with their obnoxiously loud magic wands, I figured today is as good as any day to go buy some litter and then clean their box.

Sometimes, I'm nice like that. Well, there's also knowing that if I don't clean it soon they'll start peeing on my stuff, but mostly I'm nice, dammit.

So to Walmart I went. I picked up the litter and some canned cat food, wandered around a bit, trying to remember if there was anything else we needed, got in line behind the 1000 year old woman who absolutely did not want help emptying out her cart, and then waited somewhat patiently while she slowly emptied her very full cart.

Might as well be patient; the place was a little crowded and it wasn't as if it would be any quicker if I'd changed lanes. But while I stood there being all gloriously nice and not OH GAWD LET ME HELP YOU ANCIENT ONE I started getting thirsty. It was a twitchy kind if thirsty, too, one that had me wondering if my meds were wearing off really early today, and one that wasn't going to wait until I got home.

No big deal. Walmart was crowded but the in-store Subway was not. After I paid for the kitty litter and cat food (and several other things we needed, like cookies and pizza rolls, because nothing says STICK TO YOUR DIET like cookies and pizza rolls) I went into the Subway, bought a drink and then sat down. Not wanting to just stare at other people, I pulled out my cell phone to surf Facebook, but that didn't keep me from listening to the conversations going on around me.

"I hate that. I hate those goddamned Bible thumpers being so public in what they do."

"Dad."

"It's pretentious piety, and it's wrong."

"Dad."

"So you're a Christian. Go home and really read the damned thing. Pay attention to where it says to not do that shit in public in a way that draws attention to yourself."

"Dad."

"Don't tell me I'm wrong. It's right there in the Bible."

"Dad. That's a cell phone."

That's when I realized Dad was talking about me, upset about my pretentious piety, apparently reading a Bible in the middle of Subway. And I can see where he would think so; even the Spouse Thingy has mentioned that my iPhone case looks like a pocket sized New Testament.

I kind of wanted to look up and start spouting off completely made up scripture--Lo, and the Lord said unto him, Shutteth thy mouth and judgeth not, for I am the Alpha and Omega, and I could smite your sorry ass--but my brain doesn't engage fast enough, and even if it did...no guts.

Besides, I get where he was coming from. I detest public pretentious piety, too, but I don't think someone sitting quietly by themselves while reading from their chosen religious text falls under that. I'm willing to bet if I'd had The Catechism of the Flying Spaghetti Monster in had he wouldn't have batten an eye.

I don't think the guy believed his kid until my phone beeped from an incoming text message, and I started tapping on the screen as I answered.

It would have been funnier if the Spouse Thingy had called right then, the sound of a Dalek from Doctor Who screaming Exterminate! Exterminate! cutting through the air.

Dammit, I could have made that happen. But like I said...the brain just doesn't engage that fast.

And double dammit, the Girls Scouts set up to sell cookies outside while I was shopping, so now I have a lot of cookies. A lot.

Evil kids.