Adults behaving badly

As some of you may know, I have a preschool-age child. This tiny person that I helped to create is the light of my life. She is also the bane of my existence. I never would have, never could have imagined that a human being who is convinced that birds shop at little birdy grocery stores would have the power to fill me with such joy and such a feeling of defeat and worthlessness pretty much simultaneously. We don’t give them nearly enough credit for being the itty-bitty super villains they are. But this post is not necessarily about kids and how they make us want to stick our heads in the oven sometimes. After months of astute observation, scientific experiments and YouTube videos, I’ve noticed that adult behavior is not a hell of a lot different than that of a three year old. Here are some bullet points! Everyone loves bullet points. Except for Roman numerals.

The pitching of fits. For those of you who have never worked in a restaurant or retail store, well, first of all, how did you do that, you lucky sonofabitch? And secondly, you’ve probably witnessed the person in front of you at Target have a meltdown if you never had to actually deal with it yourself. But I get it. It’s totally reasonable that a grown ass man or woman has to resort to red-faced, spit-flying, name-calling, finger-pointing-in-the-face rage monster sometimes. I mean, that Pepperidge Farm Distinct Cracker Assortment was clearly marked buy one get one free on the shelf. OR how else can I successfully relate to the server that she ruined my ENTIRE LIFE because the salad showed up and the ranch was on TOP OF IT instead of on the side? How am I supposed to just let that go? Legally, I cannot stab this person to death for ruining my salad and therefore my life, so I will pitch a big ass fit. In public. Case closed.

Thanks to for this enlightening diagram

Thanks to for this enlightening diagram

Being handsy. My good friend at Mixtape Mom and I like to talk about how magnificent and terrifying it would be if adults literally acted like preschoolers. Walking into a stranger’s home, shamelessly grabbing and touching and exploring, eating the food, peeing on the floor, kicking the dog and so on. Well, to a degree this kind of crap happens all the time. Stop touching me, people! Get out of my safety bubble! And don’t manhandle my stuff, either. It’s not okay to pick food off of my plate without asking. It’s not okay to poke me in the ribs. It’s not okay to grab things out of my hands. Common courtesy. You might as well pee on my kitchen floor.

No filter/no manners. This one is a no-brainer. There is no arguing with me here. Do I even have to waste my time and yours by elaborating on this? Didn’t think so. With the time I’ve saved us here, maybe we can pick up a new hobby or build a home for the needy.

ADD. Have you ever tried to have a conversation with a small child? You talk and talk and feel like hey, I’m freakin’ Mr. Rogers. I’m really getting my message through to this kid. The world is that much better of a place. And just when you think you’ve had a breakthrough, the kid starts talking about what the cat did this morning or will ask you the same question you just finished so eloquently answering. It’s a lot like what I imagine a chat with a goldfish would be like. Adults are no fucking different. Do you think your neighbor is really listening to your dumb anecdote? They’re too busy planning what they’re going to say once your mouth stops moving. And I’m pretty sure it will be the same story you’ve heard the past seven times you ran into them at the mailbox. People are way too wrapped up in themselves to pay any attention to the story of your injured ankle/fender bender/promotion/what have you. If you want someone to respond to you, put it on Facebook.