At dinner the other evening, I was illuminated by the von Bloggenschtern children regarding what they thought was age-appropriate behavior for a Baroness of my many years. Apparently, I don't measure up in this department, and my joyful and capricious spirit is not representative of my biological age (if these gentlemen have such definite ideas about women, their mother doesn't have the heart to tell them that they're in for a world of hurtin'). But, in deference to Duke 1, who thinks I should act "crotchety and sour" and should complain incessantly about anything and everything, here goes. Please be patient and bear with me as I adjust my dentures and take my arthritis medicine. Ahem:
" You there. Yes you - thuggish youth type who just drove up to the house 2 doors down in your souped up, mufflerless vehicle. If you were to actually take a moment and actually think about it, would you still maintain that all of us want to hear Kanye West blaring out the rolled-down windows of your car? Think again, dear. I know that you're at an age where you're asserting both your independence and your personality. Frankly, I don't care. What I know is that I was having a pleasant time out in my yard, doing my gardening until you burst on to the scene. Take your noise and go park it at some street meet like I saw in "The Fast and the Furious". Oh, one more thing before you get back into your car and peel out, may I just say that I think your hoody is about 20 sizes too big? Oh, and pull up your damn pants. I don't care to see where you bought your boxers from. What I do care about is that you're loud. That you're trying so hard to be ghetto in a middle-upper class suburb, and your true street cred sadly has approximately the same worth as mine where it matters. I care that you aren't being true to yourself, and your pretending is a silly, dangerous act. I do care that you might not have someone of influence in your life to tell you all of this.
I do care that I have to write this instead of telling you face to face how ridiculous you are acting and dressing, because I don't care to get stabbed or shot. "
How's that? Cranky enough for you, sonny? Now if you'll all excuse me - it's almost 4pm, and I have to get changed to be ready in time for the early bird special.
" You there. Yes you - thuggish youth type who just drove up to the house 2 doors down in your souped up, mufflerless vehicle. If you were to actually take a moment and actually think about it, would you still maintain that all of us want to hear Kanye West blaring out the rolled-down windows of your car? Think again, dear. I know that you're at an age where you're asserting both your independence and your personality. Frankly, I don't care. What I know is that I was having a pleasant time out in my yard, doing my gardening until you burst on to the scene. Take your noise and go park it at some street meet like I saw in "The Fast and the Furious". Oh, one more thing before you get back into your car and peel out, may I just say that I think your hoody is about 20 sizes too big? Oh, and pull up your damn pants. I don't care to see where you bought your boxers from. What I do care about is that you're loud. That you're trying so hard to be ghetto in a middle-upper class suburb, and your true street cred sadly has approximately the same worth as mine where it matters. I care that you aren't being true to yourself, and your pretending is a silly, dangerous act. I do care that you might not have someone of influence in your life to tell you all of this.
I do care that I have to write this instead of telling you face to face how ridiculous you are acting and dressing, because I don't care to get stabbed or shot. "
How's that? Cranky enough for you, sonny? Now if you'll all excuse me - it's almost 4pm, and I have to get changed to be ready in time for the early bird special.
