Mean Old Lady

Tuesday night I came home to the usual gaggle of kids in the front yard. These kids convince me on a daily basis that I do not have the patience.

Two kids played on my doorstep, moving aside as I juggled my keys, mail, and what was left of a box of Krispy Kreme donuts.

Child 1: "Hey lady! Who are those donuts for?"

Me: "Me."

Child 2: "Ah, she's just a mean, old lady."

As I told my boyfriend, "Let them get jobs and buy their own donuts."

I don't mind being called mean by these kids because I am, but for heaven's sake, I'm only 28. I am not old. Ronald Reagan was old, not me.

Mean, I wear that as a badge of honor. Any particularly good food stuff I come home with, I get asked for some. They congregate on my doorstep and outside the front window. The quality of my bathroom time has been diminshed by kids yelling outside my bathroom window, or breaking glass. While watching the last Matrix movie on dvd, we slightly opened the vertical blinds to let in some air. My boyfriend looked up to see at least 5 pairs of eyes watching through the window.

If I'm mean, it's because...

California is the most unbelievably litigious state in the union.

Maybe I watched too many Judge Judy episodes while unemployed, but people will sue over the dumbest things. Watch me get sued for breaking a kid's Atkins diet if I give him a Krispy Kreme. Or how about "letting" them watch the R-rated Matrix film? It doesn't matter that these kids have next to no supervision. Plus, I don't know these parents.

Go beg for donuts, bbq, xbox games, and movies from your parents.

If that's mean, then I'm proud to be mean.