I'm pretty sure they have a secret club.

"They" in this case being Ornery Old Ladies. Further, I think the Ornery Liberal Old Lady from my last post must have sent out some sort of vaguely lavender-scented Old Lady newsletter, because boy-oh-boy did we have an encounter today. I also suspect that she sent out a mass email to the Ornery Old Ladies' Junior Division to get the rotten teenaged girls in on it too.

Let me preface this by pointing out that today is our anniversary. I'm going to be posting about that in a moment, but let me just set the scene a bit. Today is our anniversary. We lifted our holiday ban on wedding-related stresses long enough to go on an incredibly pleasant trip to the florist with Mike's awesome mom to finalize the deets. Afterwards, we stopped by Trader Joe's to pick up some sundries. Imagine:

Standing in line behind Mike's mom, Mike and I have an arm each around each other. He's whispering in my ear something sweet about loving me and not being able to wait to marry me. There is an Ornery Old Lady behind us in line. She says "Get a room!" and then rams her shopping cart into my heel.

Now, the comment itself was unbelievably rude. It was also completely unjustified. There was no excessiveness in our displays of affection. We weren't even kissing. Besides, Mike and I are freakin' adorable. Doubt me? Check it out. The ramming part? Well, that's just new levels of amazing. You've got to be pretty ecstatic with your life to think that other people's happiness is a violence-worthy crime. Luckily, Mike and his mom only heard the comment, and I only felt the cart. If any of the three of us had been aware that both things had happened, there would definitely have been a show-down.

A couple hours later, Mike and I decide to treat ourselves to some anniversary ice cream. Rather than walk to the Baskin Robbins down the street, we really decide to go all out and drive to Cold Stone. There, we are delighted to help pay the salary of one of the bitchiest, most eye-rollingest ice cream scooper ever to chop up Heath bars. Observe:

Girl Who, Despite How Highly She Thinks of Herself, is Still Just an Ice Cream Scooper: Yes?
Mike: Can I get a regular-size strawberry with--
Ice Cream Scooper: I don't understand you.
Mike: A reguler-sized strawberry?
Ice Cream Scooper: [points angrily at the "Like It," "Love It," and "Gotta Have It"-sized cups on the counter, indicating through jabs and eye-rolls that she only understands these categories]
Mike: Oh. Well, the "Love It" size please? Strawberry with Heath bars and fudge sauce--
Ice Cream Scooper: With what?
Mike: Fudge sauce? Like, the fudge syrup that--
Ice Cream Scooper: Oh.
[She plops Mike's ice cream into a regular-size container and then looks at me.]
Ice Cream Scooper: And?
Me: Can I have a "Love It" coffee with Heath bars and Oreos?
Ice Cream Scooper: [Chops up my ingredients with all the finesse of a petulant seven-year-old kicking a bottle cap, then hands me my regular-size container]
Me: Thanks.
Ice Cream Scooper: (to Mike) How are you paying?
[transaction continues][Exeunt]

As someone who deals with people all day, both in my customer-service-oriented job and in the fact that I live among other human beings, I really can't understand how someone can be so unpleasant. Hey! Here's an idea! If you don't like people, how about you take a job where you can just sit alone in your home and just scoop ice cream for yourself and the few smelly dullards who have nothing better to do with their lives than swoon at your sub-par Heath chopping skills? And you, Old Lady! How about you take some of the money you're saving by not buying snacks and cheap toys for the grandchildren who never want to come visit you because they can't scrub the vaguely lavender smell of Ornery Old Lady off themselves for weeks afterward and the spongy feel of Ornery Old Lady kisses haunts their nightmares for months and, instead, hire someone more pleasant to do your grocery shopping for you? If two young people talking to each other is enough to really push you over the edge into violence, isn't it about time you reevaluated whether or not you should go outside ever again? I happen to know a eye-rolling young lady who would probably love to mash your pills into your sherbet for you.

And on our anniversary, too!