And let that be a lesson
Last
week, I was picking up an order at the drive-thru window of a coffee shop
because life is too precious to get out of one’s car. A quick scan of the bag revealed I was missing the coffee
creamers. Upon letting the 16-year old
ingénue at the window know about the omission, she did nothing more than
wrinkle her left nostril at me. “I’m
missing the creamers,” I repeated.
“And?” the Mensa candidate said, punctuating her response with a snap of
her gum.
Not
an “And, let me quickly get those for you.” It was an “And, do you think I care
whether you ever get your creamers while your middle-aged butt takes up space
on this planet?”
And? And? I couldn’t
believe her audacity. “Why you
little...” The take-out minx shut the window before I could finish. A car started beeping its horn behind me so
I had no choice but to move along without my creamers.
At
that moment, my cell phone rang. It was
my sister letting me know I was late in delivering the coffee and donuts to the
PTO meeting. I was livid. My sister is like a cable news channel – 24
hours of things I all ready know. There
was only one way to respond. “And?” I
said. I hung up and threw my cell phone
out the window. Curiously, I felt
better. The use of the word was
intoxicating. What a perfect
encapsulation of all that goes unsaid.
I became empowered.
One
of my kids came home from school and said “Mom, you packed a dirty sock in my
lunch today.” “And?” I responded. The unsaid:
Do you think it is easy balancing
work and family and trying to provide nutritious meals that you might actually
eat? Besides, that sock has more iron than the broccoli I served you last night
so get over it.
My
oldest child mentioned that the new iPod plays movies. “And?” I said. The unsaid: How about doing some iLaundry or iDishes to
make some iMoney of your own and giving your iMom a break?
After
dinner, my husband announced with a wink that the children were asleep. “And?” I said. The unsaid: Great, because I’m really in the mood after
working all day, wrestling three kids to bed and watching an hour of The Golf
Channel during dinner. Race you to the
bedroom!
With
this perfect word, someone, it appeared, did die and make me queen. But my time in the throne was to be cut
short. I made the mistake of calling my
mother, the High Priestess of Insulting Behavior. If I reached her by 10:00 a.m., she would only be on her third
martini. “We’d love to have you for
Thanksgiving Dinner,” I told her.
“And?”
she snorted.
And,
I vowed never to use that expression again.
Life is much more pleasant when you’re pleasant.