Starbucks and your local crackwhore

Starbucks in Barnes and Noble (love that convenience) - rolling up to the counter. Woman dressed (I'm being generous when I say "dressed", it was more of a "I'm wearing my pajamas" ensemble) in a do-rag, long sleeved sweatshirt over a tshirt, baggy sweats and tennis shoes. I'm smiling because it truly is a gorgeous day in America's Finest City. As I stop in front of the counter, I look at the Starbucks lady and the crackwhore in line (well, she looked like one and besides, it's 80 degrees outside. Even with my cold blood it was nice and warm) and I hear the pajama wearing bitch say, "Maybe if you lost some weight you could get out of that wheelchair".

OH. YES. SHE. DID!!

Now, you would expect me to say something in the way of, "Listen Miss Crackwhore, what do you know? I mean besides the street price of selling your puntang to anyone stupid enough to come near your disease ridden body. You don't hear me telling you that I can smell your stank all the way in the clearance aisle, do you? You don't see me pointing out to you that maybe brushing your teeth might save the two left in your "I'm going to die alone in some ditch" mouth. And I certainly won't mention that covering up your hair with that less than fashionable do-rag doesn't hide the dirt, twigs and most probably 7 or 8 kind of insects living there."

But I didn't do anything.

I just smiled at her. Really. Because in that second after she insulted me, I didn't care. If she's so far gone from humanity that she had to attack a stranger in a wheelchair, then nothing I said would make a difference. Besides, it was too pretty a day to deal with the likes of her. Doesn't mean in my mind I wasn't running over her again and again in my wheelchair screaming, "Betcha you wish I HAD lost some weight, right, crackwhore bitch?" Sigh. Thankfully, nothing made it out of my mouth.

Sometimes it's not worth the effort to get mad at people. While I sit here and type this, I still don't feel any anger or mortification that some crackwhore (okaaaay, maybe I'm a little peeved) called me out on my weight gain. In the words of Suzanne Sugarbaker, "Big Woo!"

P.S. I haven't put on so much weight I'm a hideous beast and look like I need a wheelchair because I can't walk. I still wear clothes from regular stores and guess what? They have zippers, buttons and belts. The Blob I am not.