I Don't Care; I'm Still Going to Spend My Entire Summer By the Pool

So yesterday, I was standing in line at a gas station, trying my best not to be annoyed by three little Hispanic children that were running rampant around the store. They were chirping to each other in Spanish and grabbing fistfuls of candy off the shelves. The smallest one ran just behind me with the other two following closely, and he slipped and fell next to the "Caution: Wet Floor" sign and smacked his face on the floor. His fistfuls of candy went flying, but he wasn't crying or anything; he just looked stunned.

Being the jerk that I am, I had to cover my mouth to stifle the laughter. I'm sorry, but seeing someone slip and fall, especially with fistfuls of candy, is hilarious to me. Plus he wasn't bleeding or anything. Plus he'd been running wild around the store like a banchee.

This was all very funny to me until the woman in front of me in line turned to me and sneered, "You should really learn to control your children in public."

Blink. Blink.

I stared back at the woman as different things about her statement began to occur to me, and I started to work it out like a geometry proof in my head.

If this snooty woman with tragically limp hair assumes that the wild, unsupervised Hispanic children were spawned of my womb, then the following assumptions are also implied about me:

1. I am Hispanic;

2. I am old enough to have birthed not one, not two, but THREE children; the oldest of which was probably eight;

3. I am the kind of mother who would allow her children to run screaming through a store and then not help my youngest when he slipped on the floor and smacked his face, but instead would stand by laughing as he gathered up his strewn candy;

4. I am Hispanic.

These assumptions led me to the following conclusions:

1. I spend far too much time in the sun;

2. I need Botox;

3. I should stop laughing at small children when they fall, no matter how funny I think it is when their Skittles go flying in all directions.

Now, all of these things processed through my mind at an incredible rate of speed, so luckily I wasn't staring at the snooty woman for very long before I responded.

I shifted my weight to my left hip, crossed my arms over my chest, cocked my head to the side, and stared that snooty woman right in the eye before letting out an irritated sigh and pointedly saying, "Those are not my children. I don't even speak Spanish!"

I paid for my Diet Pepsi, feeling confident that I'd made my point.

Then I got in my car and cried.