F*cking B*tch, Get A Life

Ian L / Public Domain 

Sunday, March 27, 2016. Otherwise identified as "Easter Sunday" began like any other Sunday. It was laundry day for the Middle Girl ladies. We decided to cab it over using the car share option. Since we only had the laundry run, a cab made more cents financially.

The cab ride and transaction to the laundry mat was more-or-less uneventful. The driver friendly and efficient enough. The return driver was huffy from the start. He went from huffy to out-and out belligerent when I asked to used the credit / debit card swipe and nasty when I passed on adding a tip.

"Don't you have 7 dollars?" "Why don't you take a bus?" He huffed and puffed about the expense of the credit / debit option. There was a bit of back and forth. (read: not a discussion. think: yelling match)
As he was pulling off he yelled into the still of this Easter Sunday morning, "F*ck you, you f*cking b*tch! Get A Life!" 

Get. A. Life. . .   Here I thought breathing, walking, talking, working, mothering a son and daughter, nurturing pets, volunteering, writing, drawing, and a bunch of other stuff was me having a life. It isn't? If not, then what is?

I do so love laundry day.