In Which a Little Girl in Grocery Store Really Hacks Me Off

I keep thinking about this little girl in the grocery store. She really hacked me off. I feel ridiculous now, but at the time, I wanted to squash her like a bug, because that's how she made me feel.

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I know, I know. A grown-up isn't supposed to feel such animosity toward a little kid. But ohhhh, she burned me. What happened was, I paid for my groceries, and as I was walking out of the store, passed a family at another register as their groceries were being bagged—a mom, a dad, and two little girls, one about 8 (the one I wanted to slug), and another girl about 6. I saw lots of candy going into a bag and caught the eight year-old's eye.

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"Wow, is that candy for you? You're a lucky duck—"

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But before I could even finish, she brays, "I'm not allowed to talk to STRAAAAANGERS!"

This was no simple exchange of information. This was an accusation. I'm very sorry to say, the little rug rat rendered me speechless. I felt, like, THIS big.

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I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "But Irene, it's good her parents and Patch the Pony have instilled "Nay, nay, from stangers stay away." But c'mon. Her parents were RIGHT THERE, fer cryin out loud, and it's not like I was wearing a raincoat and no pants. I was just trying to, well, you know. Make a connection. Share a moment. Bridge the isolation gap with a little back-and-forth. Instead, what do I get? A slap in the face. That will teach me.

Walking to the car, I couldn't shake it off. I felt snubbed, insulted, dissed, not only because I  am not a perv—

("I am NOT an ELEPHANT! I am a MAAAAN!)

—but  also because I let an eight year-old get the last word. Now, many hours later, it finally comes to me what I should have said. When she said, "I'm not allowed to talk to STRAAAAAANGERS!", what I should have said was—

"Well, you just DID, so I guess no candy for YOU!"

Little twerp. I hope she gets lots of cavities and her teeth fall out.
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