55 Crabapples for Mattie's Mom

What I really wanted to write about tonight was Ashlee Simpson turning down Playboy, but then something happened today that I simply can't keep to myself, so little Ash and her brand new prep-nose and waif-arms are gonna hafta wait.

Okay, so.
Today I decide I would like an ice cream cone.
So I walk to the ice cream store.
And there is a lady with her couple-month-old baby ahead of me.
Now, as I begin describing this wench, please understand that I eventualy come to hate her so, so much, so my description may be slightly skewed. I stress slightly though, because she was plainly horrible in even the most unbiased view.

She had a long scraggly, frizzy-straw, treebark brown ponytail, which reached halfway down her rather sizable ass. She wore tivos with ugly off-white socks, which were clearly only off-white because they were old and dingy. She had on an fugly t-shirt with some stupid wildlife or something on it, and probably had some dumb puntastic slogan on it... something granola-lame, like, say, "No More Monkey Business in the Rainforest." [Okay, I made that up completely, but ride with me here.] I think she had a mole. Or two. And patchy red blotches on her neck and forearms. And she had quite obviously never seen eyebrow wax, or, like, tweezers. And, I'm actually 100% serious on this one-- she had a fucking fanny pack. What? I know. Color: dirty traffic light yellow. And she actually had things in it (probably, like, wet-naps and a whistle and gimp). Gross. Oh, and she was like 4 feet tall. Tops. So I'm short and whatever, but I don't make it worse with navy burmuda shorts cut below the knee, and high socks nearly meeting them mid-calf.

The baby was cool. It was cute. Blonde. A boy.

Here's how it starts.
So there is one guy working. She steps up to the plate. She asks: "Does the eggnog ice cream have real eggs in it? Or soy? Or nuts?"

IC Guy: "No. None of our ice cream, even the egg nog, has egg or soy in it. And that flavor does not contain nuts."

I think he has done a very good job.
She does not.

Jackass Lady: "Can you check?"

IC Guy: "Um."

Fucker Lady: "Don't you have an ingredient manual for each flavor?"

IC Guy: "Oh, sure, yes, it's out back. I'll get it."

[Goes in the backroom, 5 minutes pass, comes back, confirms his original assertion.]

I think: "Great."
I think this too soon.

Lady of Death: "Can you show me?"

IC Guy: [with more patience than Whistler's Momma] "Sure."

[comes back with binder thingy. starts flipping through.]

As he is flipping, Assholeface says, "Thanks so much, it's not for me, it's for Mattie (motioning towards the baby in the babysack-papoosey thing attached to her front).

Wait, what??????

And then...THEN....THEEEEEN.... she starts talking to the baby in a tone of voice that made me want to pull out my Duck Hunt gun on her shoddy ass.
"Huuuh, Mattie, Mommy can't have the ice cream without sharing with you. And you're allergic to the bad, bad eggs... and the bad, bad soy... right, Mattie-Piesie, and you're too little-bittle to eat nuts, so that's ir--rel--e--vant, right? right?"

I think: "omigod. omigod. i hate you too much to say. i am so overflowing with such horrible horrible hatred towards you that I may pass out. omigod, i am really going to pass out. You have filled my heart with darkness and death."

[meanwhile, my good man the IC guy is still flipping through ingredient lists and pointing out things to the lady.]

Can I just say, if you are going to choose to talk to the baby in a totally obnoxious baby voice, can you, uh, not go all Baby-Genius-Psychobabble and over-enunciate big words? Irrelevant? What? The baby does not understand that. Why don't you just tell him it's antithetical? Or, um, inapposite? Or languidly trichadecaphobic? Gah, you aaaaaasshoooole.

Oh, and the baby does not know what soy is. The baby does not know if it wants nuts or not. The baby hates you and wants you to shut the fuck up so he can drink your milk. And as long as your saggy breasts are not filled with soymilk or ricedream, he seemingly will be fine.

And seriously, if you are so fricking worried about "bad, bad eggs," why are you drawn to the egg nog ice cream? Clearly to be difficult.
And how do you now that's the flavor Mattie wants? Did he tell you? Yea, did he?

I left after 10 minutes of ingredient discussion, and the line was out the door behind me.

There are still angry rottweilers dancing in my head.

[Thanks to blueskygirl for a lovely pic of the ice cream I was denied today.]