Oh shit! It's SHIT!!

Saturday evening, standing with my husband between the apples and potatoes in our local Emporium Galorium (aka Fred Meyer, which is close to our house and where we usually shop) I saw a vision of bitchliness coming out of the bathroom.

Can you guess?

Yeah. Fuckin' Fluffy.
She looked like hell.
I mean, perhaps she figured she was going grocery shopping and wasn't going to see anyone she knew so she didn't bother.

She had a Pebbles Flintstone hairdo thing going. Pulled up from the front and with a rubber band on top. Seriously, like the way you do a baby's hair when she doesn't have much hair and you want people to know it's a girl.

Her hair was looking a little unwashed, to be frank.
She was looking very haggard and out of sorts.
I hope her life sucks right now.

She's usually caked with makeup and has her Twikki hair all helmet-y.
Gee, I wonder if maybe she's been under some scrutiny for the way she mismanages things.

I didn't even think, I spun around to face away and said something like, "Jesus F Christ!"

Eric said, "What?"

"Fuck!!"

"WHAT??"

"What the FUCK is SHE doing here?"

The Bitchmobile was parked two spaces away from my car.He offered to slash her tires, but I told him that the security cameras would probably catch him. Haha.

I am pondering some sort of printed card now. Maybe the back of an index card. I can leave a card under her wiper every time she shows up somewhere I am.
Nothing really bad. Just, you know, 'what the fuck are you doing on this side of town? Please stick to your own area so I don't have to look at you anymore.'

As far as I know, she did not see me. And no, I'm not afraid of her. But saying something like, "So, are you still allowing your cunty friends to abuse children?" is a poor conversational gambit.