I sat across from a woman on the 2 train the other day whose 60 pound four-year-old was buckled into a harness that was slung across her chest. She produced a small pouch of juice from her Mary Poppins bag and proceeded to hold it up for him so he could drink from the straw without exerting literally any physical effort. Listen, lady – I’m all for being an involved parent, but damn – if your kid looks old enough to register for his PSATs and is physically developed enough to have a wet dream, he’s too old for you to be schlepping him around the city in a forward-facing papoose. And if you don’t even make him hold up his own 8 oz. juice, you’re going to have one shrunken, atrophied little college freshman on your hands (or chest, as the case may be) come college move-in day (in, like, 5 years).
I experienced a new level of disgust and irritation today when I was peacefully walking down the sidewalk, headphones in, and almost got mowed down by a frizzy-haired, middle-aged woman on rollerblades. She came out of nowhere, staggering quickly towards me in an unwieldy fashion like she was doing an old-timey slapstick routine. From her helmet, ankle/knee/wrist/elbow guards and mouthpiece, I could tell that she had invested a good amount of money in looking so embarrassingly stupid and neurotic. Her socks, which looked like they were thigh-highs that had been bunched up and then pulled down, were neon yellow and glowing in the sunlight.
At the last minute, she made a sharp turn and headed across the street in the other direction, her arms flailing as she just barely maintained control over her portly body. A delivery guy on a bike and I watched her leave, and as he turned to me, we shared a look that said, “Hey, bitch – it’s 1:00pm, the sun is out, and we can see you too fucking well already. Next time, leave the day-glo socks at home.”
First of all, if you made the joke, you shouldn’t be laughing at it. Secondly, what’s the point of laughing as loudly as you can? Are you trying to prove to me that the joke was actually funny? Dude, you’re not a bar wench from colonized Australia, and honestly, unless Dave Chappelle is doing a private stand-up show for you in the other room right now, you need to take it down about twenty notches.