Down Off the Throne

As Jen and I made our way home today, in Horace the Silver Beetle, we bickered about which one of us was more grumpy -- which one of us was sporting the epic crown and deserved to sit on the Most Bummed Out Bitch Goddess throne. Honestly now, we are just FAR too competitive for our own respective goods -- doncha think?

By the time we pulled into the small parking lot of our neighborhood joint, Louis, the discourse had reached our usual maturity nadir. Yep, the one where whatever delicate emotion either of us wanted to express, whichever soulful point one of us was attempting to make got buried under the swaggering, knuckle dragging cry of 'Let's arm wrestle. I’ll win this time too!'

Yeah, I beat my chest, brazenly declaring this and then...and then I remembered. Oops...Jen’s a wiry broad but she ALWAYS wins. Always. She NEVER loses.

Many sighs were exhaled. By me.

Thunder was stolen, wind exited sails and starch vamoosed from backbones (well, mine anyway). So here I was even MORE grumpy and bummed because I can never win at arm wrastling, not even with my own skinny Willow Rosenberg. You know what this means, don’t you? YES, I won the Most Bummed contest! To which she replied, grumblingly 'well played, well played.'

And the contest was for? about? Who cares -- I won!

Places where Jen and I have indulged in our mega mature conflict resolution:

    On the customer care counter at our last job, WHILE the shop was open. sigh -- we seem to lack the appropriateness gene.

    At The Pour House and far too many other ‘adult’ bev emporiums. Yeah, you’d think the 20th knocked over Sierra Nevada would have smartened us up -- wouldn’t ya.  Eh, nope.

    In the pressroom where I was the production manager and she was a quality control babe. Incredibly neither of us lost cred with the guys. Of course, this WAS a pressroom. Maybe we were, for once, appropriate.

So then, NOT only can you not dress us up -- you can’t take us anywhere nice either.

I way understand that I’m not setting a fine and dandy example for the grandkiddles. I’m more of a cautionary tale maybe.

OK...yeah, I’m down with that.
Blind Faith -- Can't Find My Way Home