You Catch More Flies With Honey...

I may or may not have mentioned at some point in the past that I hate rudeness.

Despise it. With a passion.

Rude people make me cringe in that way a mama would when she sees you do the exact opposite of whatever lesson she's recently beaten into you (not that I ever did this, because I was the perfect child).

I seem to run into rudeness a lot in this little college town full of students who seem to think that this town runs on the revenue their school generates for our fair city. Never mind the fact that it's our tax dollars that make the world go-round. No, no. Texas A&M University? Totally the center of the universe here.

This is especially apparent during the fall and winter months when you are stupid enough to venture to Wal*Mart the night before a football game because you are desperately in need of hair color. This is when you realize that you are clearly not more important than the 40lbs of ground beef Frat Brother Drunky McDrunkerson needs for his Triple Meat Tailgate Burgers. And he has no problem running you over with his cart like you're about to buy out the entire section of cheap beer and box wine (as if).

As a mom of four, I feel like I'm entitled to do quite a bit myself. Like maybe, enjoy a glass of wine without being flashed by your vajayjay while you're on a date (and hey, in case you didn't notice...that guy? totally not into you). Or, having you stand in front of the frozen appetizer section in the grocery store trying to pick between TGI Friday's potato wedges or fried green beans while I'm trying to buy actual food.

I'm also entitled to a trip to Starbucks and conversation without being glared at by some haughty little redhead who thinks she should be allowed to study in a public place without noise.

Didn't your father's substantial donations go to pay for that little thing called a library?

Also. Yeah. Passive-aggressively shoving tables against each other and squeezing into a booth to the point where you're intentionally crowding out four women in an effort to get them to move? Rude.

The only thing all of this makes me want to do is occupy every local establishment with my kids, my friends, my friend's kids, my bickering grandparents, some stray animals and my mother-in-law who tends to get progressively louder as she talks (I love her though).

And then, I will randomly shout things like "eat a sandwich" and "stop stuffing yourself into jeans two sizes too small" or "wearing cowboy boots with shorts makes your thighs look huge!" I'll buy all of the Milwaukee's Best and corn dogs. I'll hog the Ramen Noodles. I'll loudly talk to my best friend at the gym about my in-laws and afterbirth. My kids will throw up on you and I'll yell, "I'm older and have more insurance."

Towanda!