I’m type typing along, when middle aged and elderly women descend on my office like the Mongol hordes. Mongol horde? Is that racially insensitive? Like calling people savages? Anyway. The old women mostly wanted to drop off things for a yet to be scheduled rummage/tag/yard/whatever you call them where you’re from sale. The middle aged woman is the Foul Bitch of a Choir Director.

One of the old women is an old family friend. She’s always been blunt. Lately she’s moved into hurtful. I’m always uneasy around her because I’m not sure if she’s going to spectacularly hurt my feelings and if I’m going to respond with swearing. I actually really like her. Or I do when she’s not suggesting maybe it’d be in my best interest to puke up the cookie I’m eating half of unless I only want black men interested in me. True story. But she has her good points, I swear. As soon as I remember one of them, I’ll get back to you.

Today she brought by things for the yard sale. And a pair of pants that were mis-sized she thought she’d give to me instead of the yard sale. They’re pink seersucker capri pants with an elastic waist. They’re a 22. I wear an eight. An eight!

I just sat there with my mouth open, holding the pants.

The Foul Bitch of a Choir Director said in her most Foul Bitch voice Geez. Can’t you tell she’s much too thin to wear those ugly old things? She exercises every day. She sniffed. She runs. She said it in a tone best reserved for saying something like she steals.

What just happened? I’m so confused.