Passive Aggressive Southern Spider Monkeys


Hi. My name is Holli and I’m passive aggressive. And I’m southern. And I’m not ashamed of either of those facts. I think they are a very useful pair of tools to have in your toolbox. They compliment each other.

I only say this because the other day I had occasion to make a woman almost crawl under the shelves at a local grocery store. And all I really used to do it was a smile and a drawl. Don’t get me wrong, I have bat poop crazy spider monkey in my toolbox too but sometimes that is just overkill.

I was grocery shopping with V that morning at a local Kroger. I was enjoying the peace and getting my coupon on. When, unsolicited, a nice fifty something woman appeared next to me oohing and cooing over V. This I’m used to. And then the inevitable how old is she question reared its nasty head.

Every time I hear it  I feel like a bowl of petunias. Oh no. Not again.

So I dutifully told her V had just turned five months old. And do you know what this woman who honestly looked like she wasn’t raised in a barn said? Do ya? Huh? Huh? Guess….

Drum roll……

“What’s wrong with her.”

Yep.

You read it right. Not, is something wrong with her?

“What’s wrong with her.”

And the spider monkey screamed to be let out of its cage. It actually slung a little poop onto the wall. But I refused to free the spider monkey. I was tempted. But I was strong.

Really. How would you handle someone asking what was wrong with your kid even if they had a third arm and a mole the size of Texas growing off their upper lip. There are things you don’t do if you aren’t really close to the situation or prepared to die. Asking a woman why her butt is so big and saying there is something wrong with somebody else’s baby are good examples .

But I kept the spider monkey in the cage. I didn’t even ask what was wrong with her. I took a deep breath and reached into the old toolbox. I drug out my southern drawl and my passive aggression. I secured them together with a little duct tape. And I hit her square upside the head with them.

“Well dear, she’s just as perfect as a baby can be. Why do you ask?”

I even said it with a smile.

It had the same impact as hitting her over the head with a lovely plate of deviled eggs then smashing the rest of her brains in with a pitcher of sweet iced tea while she was down and bleeding. It was fabulous.

I watched her wilt and slink away. She was still attempting to extract her foot from her mouth.

And I slung a little mental spider monkey poop at her as she went.

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