Veronica Mars: Congratulations. You've been named the world's biggest cockroach. This award is given in recognition of your unparallell lack of decency and humanity. Bravo. You're gonna die friendless and alone.
--Veronica Mars, "Hot Dog" (4/19/05)
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Wife has been sick for over a week now, with god-knows-what. We know it's not Swine Flu because when she went to the doctor, they isolated her until they'd finished testing. Her fever is finally down but she's still acking up stuff and sounding cruddy and I have to wonder if she doesn't have herself a case of pneumonia now.
All of this is prelude to the fact that I had to take Wee One to the football game on Saturday so that she, and her fellow cheerleaders, can cheer on the Parkville Patriots. While there, I also managed to get roped into holding down the Bake Sale table for the first half of the game. I did have a nice chat with another Cheer mom, so that was good.
After the game, Wee One had a birthday party to attend, over at Skateland in Perry Hall. We got there an hour late (we'd given the girls' mom fair warning), and as it happened, they were about to serve the pizza and beverages. Wee One scarfed hers down and went to the skate rental window to get a pair to put on.
(Sidebar: this is why I don't rollerskate. I'm not putting my feet into shoes that hundreds of other people have worn. Even during the time that I bowled, I had my own damn shoes.)
She got her skates on and managed to go a few laps. Meanwhile I stayed back and chitchatted with a couple of the adults. One of them noted that she hadn't been in Skateland in twenty years, and it hadn't changed a bit. I looked around me and allowed that this may be true: it didn't look as though anything had been changed in that place in a long time. maybe some new paint here and there, but not much else.
During the weekend days, apparently, Skateland is like Chuck E. Cheese with wheels: all they do is kids' parties at that time of day. Then they shut down around 4:00 and re-open with the usual crowd in the evening. There were no fewer than a half-dozen kids celebrating their birthdays, with adults and guests and presents and such, all sharing the same space in the Snack Bar area. It was pretty crowded in there, and as it happened, the party that Wee One was attending had about a dozen kids, crowded into two of those picnic-table type setups with the plastic molded benches that might hold two adults comfortably. The kids on the ends were constantly in danger of getting bumped to the floor. For whatever reason, the adjacent tables were not used to feed kids.
The kids were called back to the table so that we could sing "Happy Birthday" (© 1935 by Patty and Mildred Hill) and have some cake. Wee One worked her way back to the table, carefully because she was still on the skates and struggling to maintain her balance. Candles were lit, songs were sung and the cake was cut. Wee One was among the youngsters who couldn't find a place to sit. The adjacent table to one side had another party in it; the one to the other side had an older couple who wasn't with our party. Wee One got her plate and started to eat standing up.
Of course you know what happened next: her feet went out from under her, the cake went a-flying, and she landed on her butt. She wasn't hurt but her pride was definitely wounded. This is when the guy at the next table turned around, said something that he thought was clever (I can't remember what it was), and offered her a hand up. He got her on her feet--I'll give him credit for this--and another slice of cake was procured (fortunately, there was a LOT of cake). I said to him, "Hey, maybe you could let her sit and eat her cake."
Nothing. Well, if you've read this drivel for any length of time, then you know how I enjoy being ignored. I tried again: "Hey...why don't you let her sit so she can eat her cake?"
At this, he turned around and said, "This isn't your table...it's our table." My hands were full at that point, so I couldn't really do the "whoa" hands, but my eyes rolled so hard that I think I sprained one of them. Now, he and his wife were the only ones sitting at this table, and god only knows where the rest of his party was located. I said to him, "It's not a matter of whose table it is, it's a matter of doing a decent thing for a little girl who's clearly struggling to stay on her feet."
Believe it or not, this douchebag was ready to give me ten minutes of argument about it, what with his "what is your problem?" and whatever else before I stopped listening and literally turned my face away from him at that point. We found another place for Wee One to sit and I did my best to keep this guy thinking that I was going to start the argument up again. I'd see him gearing up all over again, but I wouldn't say anything and he wasn't brave enough to start without new provocation. Every time he gave me the stink eye I'd look directly back at him until he broke eye contact. That's right, I was playing with you, Dickhead.
The psychological warfare, it is truly fun.
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