Talk Dirty To Me

I drove by a gas station on Sunday and there was a sign out in front that read “We have the best gifts for Mother’s Day”. You know I always try to keep an open mind, but really?

Personally, I was very thankful that my children had the good sense not to buy me something from a gas station for Mother’s Day. Considering the price of gas, though, a pre-paid gas card may not be all that bad a gift. That is, of course, if you didn’t know your mother at all, had no idea what to get her and really didn’t care if she liked your Mother’s Day gift or not.

Since my kids have the good sense their momma gave them, they gave me an iTrip. It lets me listen to my iPod through my car speakers. iThink it rocks.

Yesterday was a kickass Mother’s Day. Today was Mom’s going to kick your ass day.

Without getting into too much detail, one of my kittens has found herself in a bit of a pickle requiring more assistance that I can comfortably supply myself. Today, the hubby and I had a meeting with the person who is providing said assistance. This was the first time we met face to face.

Under the circumstances, I expected to be meeting a professional person. What walked into the room was a filthy, disheveled, completely unkempt and braless woman wearing an ill-fitting and equally dirty yellow dress with a garage sale $3.00 price tag still attached to the back. Her hair was greasy and her glasses, well, I think they may have had last night’s mashed potatoes on them. I tried to determine what those white lumps actually were, but was distracted by her summer teeth. Summer there, and sum were not. The ones that were there were a deep shade of brown. Nice color for chocolate, not for teeth.

iGag.

I wasn’t expecting Gucci to walk in the door, but please Minnie Pearl, learn from Monica’s past mistakes and at least lose the dirty dress. I can’t say I’ve been comfortable with the entire situation and this certainly wasn’t helping any. JessiCat has little sense of humor when it comes to the kittens.

Completely astonished with the dirt, I still tried to talk to her. When the stuff coming from her mouth sounded as crappy as her appearance, I politely tried to excuse myself and said that I didn’t think this arrangement was going to work out and I wanted to find someone else to help my daughter. She wanted to know why I was running and what I was afraid of.

Oh, I don’t know...lice, cholera, typhoid? Lord only knows what could have jumped off those glasses alone.

So iLeft.

She called me later this afternoon wanting to know if I had second thoughts about my decision, which she considered impulsive.

Repulsive is the word I would choose.

No, no second thoughts, but now I have to find another assistant. Yes, it’s true. Another CATastrophe.

iSigh.