The Woman With The Uzi
But you would too if you kept having flashbacks, making it all come back as if it was again real, kind of like the kiss I had with "Jay Lips" that I really didn't want but was kind of coerced into (long story, other life), and which I now regret. All the time. Because Jay Lips' name was Jay Lips (of course, it's not his real name) because he had the biggest lips in town. They were beyond Angelina Jolie-sized lips. I'm talking blow-up doll lips, like those wax lips we all wore when we were kids and thought everyone believed they were actually our own lips and that we were fooling everyone everywhere. Well, at least I did. Whatever.
The thing that was much worse about Jay Lips was that he wore pants that were about 10 sizes too small for him, and they made his "zone" very obvious, if you know what I mean. You could not, no matter how hard you tried, avert your eyes from his "zone". It's almost like there was a very strong magnet lodged within his mountain range -- I mean,"zone" -- and my eyes could not help but stare. The thing is, it was not enjoyable or the least bit attractive. Because the pants were so tight, they were beyond spray painted on. I'm sure he hasn't been able to have children.
Anyway, back to my reason for this post. I sure do go off on tangents, don't I...
You see, I was one day walking into a medical building, minding my own business as I always do. As I'm about to open the door, I notice this frumpy woman (not that I'm at all judging her) bogged down with a stroller, about 1,342 plastic bags, and a toddler with old milk dried around her mouth.
So, being the amazingly kind and altruistic woman that I am and that people know me for, I opened the door, and instead of walking through it and leaving her to her own devices, I held it open for her and waited for her to exit with her baggage before I started to make my way into the building.
I quickly calculated this was probably not the best decision on my part to have been so kind to this woman and her dog-and-pony show because this woman took her sweet time moving through the doorway with all her paraphernalia, and all I could think to myself, over and over, was, 'I'm going to be late. I'm going to be late,' like Alice in Wonderland. And I don't like to be late. It makes me sweat just thinking about it, because then my mind starts trying to come up with reasons why I'm late, and usually they're all lies. There is usually no reason other than I was too lazy to leave in time.
But this woman seems so nice, she's actually smiling (Michelle Duggar-like -- it was freaky) and she walks by me. She doesn't say "thank you", however, which is what I would expect after holding a very heavy commercial glass door for a very long time for a complete stranger. Wouldn't everyone? Yeah, I thought so. I'm still somewhat bitter about that.
Instead, this woman stops. But, oh no, she doesn't stop after moving out of my way. She stops right in the doorway, just in the way enough that I can't move in or out. I'm stuck, a prisoner of my own device.
She then pulls her flowery frock up her thick, dimpled thighs, crouches down and reaches into one of the trillion plastic bags she has hanging off the stroller. All the while, I'm trying to send her signals with my eyes (now, I know everyone can read eye signals, right?!). But she's ignoring me. Then she says to her little troll standing beside her, "Now Estrellitina Agnes Alora, what do we do for people who show their generosity toward us?"
And that's when I began to sweat. My life flashed before my eyes. I could not believe it. I was going to die. This woman was a nut, and she was about to pull out an Uzi and ram it up my nose and send me to heaven. And I wasn't wearing clean underwear either, I remembered, which only made me sweat more. I have this "thing" about paramedics, and god forbid I need them and not look my best. I'm sure you know what I mean. Because, as all women know, the only thing on hunky paramedics' minds when they are called is to see how hot the patient is, and whether or not she's willing and able. So, as you can see, clean underwear would have been a major bonus at this point in time. Not that I would ever really do anything like that because I am happily married. I love you, dear. Remember, this is just my imagination blathering. Dear?
As all this is going through my mind, the killer pulls out a necklace. Looks like it could be made of emeralds. And she pushes it toward me. I'm assuming I'm supposed to take this jewelry, but I don't dare. I don't know this woman. It is freaking me out. What if the stones are filled with some kind of radioactive poison? Or worse yet, what if she's put some strange witch spell on it, and my life will be even more doomed than it already is?
Then she says, still not really looking at me, "Here. This is what we do when someone does something nice for us. Please take it."
What was I supposed to do? Question her motives? Ask her for id? Pat her and her monkey down?
So I took it. I also said thank you, like any normal person would.
Maybe what I should have done was throw the necklace back her way, exclaiming, "Right back atcha!" as I made a run for the elevator and my freedom.
But then I got this image in my head of us throwing this damn necklace back and forth to each other, and then I missed my doctor appointment, and then after she got tired of it, the flower frock lady pulled out that Uzi and aimed.
So I finally said thank you very much, have a great day, and I ran to the elevator, poisonous voodoo necklace in hand.
The creepy feeling has remained to this day, however, and no matter how hard I try to rid my mind of the thought, there it stays, forever haunting my addled brain.
Now tell me, was this woman normal? Was she a freak? Am I making a huge tumour out of a small cyst? Should I have kept the necklace instead of throwing it into the nearest old lady's open purse and instead tried to make some money selling it on Ebay? Please tell me. Inquiring minds really need to know.