Sorry About That...

http://www.placeboeffect.com

I didn't mean to be short with you. It's not my style. I save all that shit for my husband. I was just feeling some serious pressure. I don't even know if 'pressure' is the right word. 'Anger' might be a better word. Yes, let's go with 'anger'. Okay, I was feeling some serious Anger. Not because my particular spot in line at the grocery store was moving at an excruciating pace, though it was, or because I was running late, or even because my free time this week consisted of getting those goddamn groceries but because as soon as I get a moment to think, these days, I get pissed. Like, for example, while I wait in line at the grocery store to spend half my income, I get angry. While it's true, anger is not a foreign concept for me, as I spend a little more time on the dark side than some, it wasn't fair to take it out on you. I'm sure my mood was written all over my face, but you didn't seem to notice. I guess, you thought that I'd love a chance to chat with you in line that day. Maybe you were in a particularly good mood because your day promised some instagram-worthy fun or a nap or a celebration where there'd be cake. It strikes me funny to imagine myself initiating a conversation with a stranger at the grocery store. I'd have to be on some serious medication to feel pleasant enough to make small talk when it wasn't required, but for some reason, you saw fit and I punished you for it. Sorry about that.

So, because it's not your fault that teaching has become a near impossible and a somewhat dangerous task, and autism has become the fifth member of our family, and Red Sox tickets have never been further from our reach, I owe you an apology for my rude dismissal of your statement. 

Here goes:

"I'm sorry. And, yes, $9 for grapes is atrocious!"

Sincerely, 

The Cranky Mom in Line Ahead of You on No-Tax Saturday

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