Do you feel lucky, punk?

I got to go shopping yesterday without the kids. *Hallelujah Chorus sounds* Sweet, blessed freedom! Just me and Costco, Mano a mano, tête-à-tête, poco a poco…So I took my time. Wandering those great aisles, browsing the bulk underwear selection…and it was Sunday, so you know what that means - SAMPLES! aka FREE LUNCH! My day was going swimmingly. And then, on the cookie aisle, little Miss Angsty-emo Dark-cloud Prostitart pipes up, and tries to ruin everything.
I was whistling Winnie-the Pooh - the go-to tune for the “shopping without kids“ whistle aficionado, followed closely by “The Fishin’ Hole”, better known as The Andy Griffith Show theme song - and a voice from beyond - or, behind me, and a little to the left - snidely tosses out “You, know, with the whole big, ugly, whistling - you look like a total creeper.” I was totally flabbergasted. It’s like I’m a magnet for crazy. A big, ugly, whistling crazy magnet.
Princess Poppet’s mom is standing there, 10 feet away, pretending that she’s not related. All gloaty, the Goth tot turned and started to flounce away.
“Wait- do I get to rebut that? At least defend myself?”
“Ew, mom - he’s talking about butts…”

Her mother tossed her a look that was so very, very tired.

“I may be big, ugly, and whistley, but at least I have enough intelligence not to poke a grizzly. You’ve got dummy written ALL over you. I expect we’ll be seeing you on “Teen Mom” sometime soon. My suggestion? Instead of talking, INHALE the oxygen you expend on spouting meaningless tripe and put it towards saving whatever is left of your brain. I happen to be the father of 3 AWESOME kids, and I pray to all the powers of the universe - including A’Tuin, the Almighty Unicorn, and He-Man - that they never turn out like you. You are a sad, sad little girl.”

“You’re a fucking ASSHOLE!”

“Charming. And witty.”

Oh, MAN it was awesome. Probably a little mean, but still awesome. Because seriously. You have got to be out of your goddamn mind to come up on me during my quality alone time and insult me. Especially on Sample Day. And more so if I come across as a “creeper.” Whatever the fuck THAT is. Creeper used to be weed that snuck up on you, and suddenly you were all “Man, I could totally eat a whole PLANET of nachos...” Now, apparently, it’s big guys walking through the store whistling to themselves. Kids these days. Meh. Her mom thought it was funny, though. She smirked when her daughter got all flustered and stomped back to her cart. Mama knows. Sometimes, you just gotta let them learn the hard way.