The Following list will contain a series of events that have managed to make me want to stand up and kick someone’s ass.
1. When parents think I am going to run their child over.
I've always noticed this. When I was smaller it made more sense to me because, well, a seven-year-old driving a 300lbs motorized wheelchair could be considered hazardous. However, now I'm a 21-year-old grown ass woman driving something that has the monetary value of a car down the sidewalk. I look pretty put together with my shimmering leather boots, plaid pants, and acid green cable-knit sweater (don't judge me the 80s are coming back), therefore it makes no sense why I would risk something of such value to me to run over a snot-filled twerp. It's not like there wasn't a shit ton of distance between me and this woman's child, cause there was. I know what you're thinking, maybe the mother wanted to prevent the booger eating pipsqueak from running out in front of me, but that wasn't the case. The kid had no interest in me. Let the record show: it was a grown ass kid. I would think the mother would have more faith in him.
2. When my mother wants me to look sharp but I was actually going for the raggedy, careless look.
I argued with my mother this month, and even though we banter on a weekly basis this time I felt it was different. You see, sixteen-year-old girl, odds are you think your mother is the strongest woman you've ever met because well, hell, she is. I mean even Wonder Woman isn't as omnipresent as your mother is. Your mom is fucking everywhere, and sometimes it gets under your skin because you want to make mistakes. You want to figure life out. You want to stumble and trip (metaphorically of course). However, you've got to stop being a brat to your mother when she tries to help... granted you did not ask for it, but you have to understand that this woman dedicated her life to you. She worked and stressed for years hoping that you would never have to trip or fall. This is the woman who had the ovaries to tell the chief physician at John Hopkins "no" just plain "no". Therefore, if she wants to fix your shirt because your bra strap is showing hold your breath like the mature, understanding, young woman you are, and let her fucking do it. Then, when you walk out the door just tell your assistant to pull your shirt back down like every other young adolescent.
3. When I have to make a decision that will affect the next 24 hours of my life: "To jacket or not to jacket?".
You see, I don't spend a lot of time outside, which explains my paleness, but then again, I do have to go outside when transporting from apartment, to vehicle, to building. Therefore the weather is an element that I have to consider when choosing my apparel. On the other hand, I spend a solid 75% of my time indoors. Again, that explains my pearly, ghostly complexion. Which means I should weigh my apparel decision based on the temperature of the building I will be spending most of my time in. I know this seems ridiculous, and like a much simpler problem than it is, but then questions start to emerge. What if I decide to wear a jacket and my tire pops on the way to the building and I have to stand on the side of the road for hours? What if I wear shorts at the movie theater, and I forget to bring a blanket? My beautiful legs can't take that. What if they turn the AC off in my classroom, and I start to drown in my own sweat? To which most of you would answer: "Then just take the damn jacket off. It ain't that hard." Oh, contraire my fair readers. It is not only hard. It is awkward. Just imagine me telling my assistant to take my jacket off. She stands up from the desk that is a foot and a half lower than I. This desk is located in a crowded classroom, so she barely has space to stand next to me, and my wheelchair makes noises as I tilt back. Suddenly I start to regret the decision I made in the store when asked "medium or small?" cause bitch, I said small. Long story short my elbow is behind my ear somehow. The jacket doesn't want to come off, and everyone is staring, but like moderate staring. Which is even more awkward because they're trying hard not to stare at me in the middle of a college lecture. So, when asked "To jacket, or not to jacket" I take my time, and think about it.