Pointless Ramblings

You know when you sometimes just get a whim to write and you really don’t have any clear point in your mind?  I have several thoughts that are tugging at me at the moment; perhaps this will help me make some sense of them.

Saturday, because it was like a Mother’s Day thing and *only* because it was a Mother’s day “fuss making” , I let my mother talk me into taking her to a Super Wal-Mart.  I can’t begin to describe how much I hate the entire experience. On any given day. But on a Saturday afternoon, it’s particularly painful.

It wasn’t particularly noteworthy, but for one instance. It was just the normal aggravations: tons of rude people, everything she or I needed being in the “wrong” place, and my normal bitching of my mother on her little riding scooter zooming through the aisles as though she thought she was a stock car racer (leaving me to chase her).

The one *event*, I guess you could call it, I chased her around a corner and down a very crowded aisle which had caused her to need to stop momentarily.  She also needed something on this aisle, so she was browsing.  I stopped to stand next to her and wasn’t really doing anything to call attention. I might have been chatting with her a little.

A split second before, I noticed the teen-aged girl with her family. She was looking around in a kind of mystified fashion before she turned fully around.  I saw her before she saw me and it was very obvious she was mentally handicapped.

The weird thing was: she looked at me and immediately lit up like a Christmas Tree.  I didn’t really realize she was running over to me until she arrived and threw her arms around me. She was just beaming and “HI!!!!” I was completely and totally freaked the fuck out. I do NOT *do* being touched by a stranger. However, I did not want to stiffen up and have her feel as though I “didn’t like her” with my body language.  So I took a deep breath, gave her a big smile and a little squeeze and said “HI!”

I italicized the “mentally handicapped” up there because I am never sure exactly how to say it.  I have told this story once and I stumbled all over that bit.  My diplomacy in this amuses me a little because, ordinarily, the ‘wrongness’ of what I’m saying does not even enter my world when we’re speaking  because anything goes.

I toss around the words “retard” or “retarded” at least 10 times a day.   Half of these are usually directed at myself.  I didn’t know until I was recounting this experience how much I actually dislike using that phrase towards someone who is, in fact, retarded.  Obviously, I use it as pejorative and to me, if you can not help a fact, you should not be insulted with it.

You know what? I can not find my point. But I’m going to publish it anyway. It’s not the first (or probably the last) that I just started rambling seemingly endlessly with no visible purpose.


~ by Layla on May 12, 2010.

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