Measure T and The Crazy Lady

I recently had an encounter with what I believe is the world's angriest woman. It was super fun....

I was recruited by our town Librarian to campaign for a measure that is being presented to the voters in June. This measure would renew an existing tax (1/8 of a cent) that currently provides 87% of our county's library funding. Sounds pretty important, right? I thought so too. I agreed because not only do I love to read, but my kids love to read. I feel that I can swing 1/8 of cent to fund the library and really, if the library isn't getting the money, you better believe that the government would not only refuse to give it back, they would find something else to fund with it. Maybe more private jets.

Anyway.

Part of my responsibility was to walk different neighborhoods, knocking on doors and making sure people knew about the measure and handing out literature. Now, I really dreaded doing this, not because I don't like talking to people because I do. Ask my kids, I talk to everyone. It's a running joke in my family that I make friends everywhere I go...waiting in line at the grocery store, shopping at Target. I figure, if you're just standing there waiting you might as well have a good time doing it and since making snide remarks to (or about) strangers tends to get frowned upon, I get chatty instead.

Moving on.

I fully admit that I'm one of those people that will do just about anything to avoid opening the door to people I don't know (or sometimes to people that I do know, but tell. Shh.), so it didn't hurt my feelings at all if people ignored my friendly little knock. I left my little paper under the mat and moved on. No harm, no foul. Until I arrived at The Crazy Lady's house. This was one of those times when her house didn't give any clues as to the menace inside. It was nicely kept, a happy little welcome sign on the door. Inviting, right? Not so much.

She answered, I introduced myself and told her briefly why I was there. Things like, this tax provides 87% of the library funds and if it doesn't pass, the library faces massive closures. As in most, if not all the libraries will close. She then said, "I'm voting no."

I admit, I chuckled because I thought she was joking. Really, who would vote to close libraries other than people who kick puppies and name their kids Adolf.

I was soon put in my place, because not only was she serious, she was so serious that she kept me on her porch for 5 minutes while she ranted about how, "The government should have gotten all those assholes out of office years ago and then we wouldn't be in this mess. And what are we doing supporting illegal immigrants anyway? All those damn liberals have screwed us up and taken our money and I'm not going to give one more cent for them to clean up their messes!"

And then came the real shocker...

"I'm a published California historian and I donate books all the time to the library! So no, I'm not voting for this!"

Wow. Wow. So, let me get this straight...You're an author and you what, don't like libraries? You don't want people to have access to your books? You're against reading?

Intrepid readers, you should be so proud. I pasted an enchanting smile on my face and said, "Thank you for your time." and walked away.

People like her need a warning sign. Or some poison in her coffee. Either way.

The Great Bikini Debate

I took the girls to Target today and this is what my list looked like:

• Wine
• Cotton balls
• Birthday present for Little Bit's teacher (Who is absolutely amazing by the way. But you can't have her because she's ours. Ours, I say!) 
• Camera case (For my beautiful new Nikon camera who has been christened Idris which is a Doctor Who thing and if you don't get it then not only do I feel unendingly sorry for you but it's very well possible I might make slanderous comments in your presence or even just flat out refuse to associate with you.)
• Wine
• Lotion
• Swiffer Wet Jet thingys

Not too bad, right? I didn't think so either. However, this is what actually ended up in my cart:

• Wine (This is a good thing...read on and you'll see why)
• Cotton balls (Looks promising!)
• Candy
• Pringles (These were definitely not on the list because as we all know, you can't have just one and quite frankly if my ass gets any bigger it's going to require its own zip code.)
• Easter socks from the $1 section (Now, these were for me and I love them. Don't judge me.)
• Wine (Did I note that twice? Huh. Fancy that.)
• Camera case (Yay!)

With the exception of the candy and Pringles, I think I did pretty damned good! Then we arrived at the swimsuit area.

Just as a side note, we did not arrive at this section for me because not only will I refuse to try on a swimsuit unless I have just ingested copious amounts of alcohol, I'm pretty sure they don't carry what I would be in the market for. I know this because the last time I checked, Target doesn't sell rain ponchos in fun, flirty colors and seeing as how I generally eat too much candy and Pringles, this is all I am willing to subject the general public too.

Moving on.

My oldest is 13 and is entering that special time in her life where she could wear a burlap sack (or a rain poncho in fun, flirty colors) and still look gorgeous and disturbingly attractive. Every year, she wages the Great Bikini Debate and presents all the reasons why she should be allowed to purchase and wear a bikini. Did you notice the wine on my list? In the interest of fair play, I agreed to let her try on some bikinis.

Fuck.

I just can't get on board with the picture of my baby girl prancing around wearing smaller versions of what she wears under her real clothes every day. I'm talking underwear, people! The suit parts were smaller than her underwear. Smaller, slinkier, sexier...pick your adjective. Whatever you want to go with, the reality is that if I relented in the face of the Great Bikini Debate, I would be endorsing the irreversible action of my beautiful girl gallivanting around in glorified underwear.

This, I cannot do. Why? Because I'm pretty sure that if she arrived at the pool wearing something of this nature, what had started as an innocent Jr. High pool party would swiftly come to resemble something out of Girls Gone Wild or an episode of Campus PD. If you think I want to be responsible for that kind of catastrophe, you better think again.

Lesson of the day, you want to turn Happy Mom into Raging Lunatic Mom all you need to do is stick me in a dressing room and parade my daughter in front of me wearing shoe strings and a doily.

On the upside, I got some peanut butter M & M's to tide me over until it's time to drink.