One Step Closer to the Crazy Old Lady I’m Destined to Be

The other night I made a late run to the grocery store after work.  It was about 9:45 when I was coming home, pitch black out with a few snowflakes starting to fall.

So I was more than a little shocked as I turned into the neighborhood when my headlights cast across two boys around the age of 13 or 14 clambering all over the big sign displaying the name of the subdivision.  A name that includes the word “Stone.”  I’m sure I need not trifle with your intelligence by listing the kinds of spray-paint additions that the idiot children of this predominantly upper middle class community like to make to that sign.

It being snowy, dark, and a school night, about the only reason I could see for two young teen boys to be on and around that sign–and not home on their X-Boxes hijacking virtual police cars or taking out enemy foxholes with pixelated grenades–was to entertain residents of this subdivision with their wit and potential Scrabble acumen.

I very nearly pulled the car over to roll down the window and start questioning what the hell they thought they were doing out there, but it really wasn’t a good place to stop.  While it was later in the evening, there was still a fair amount of traffic about (did I mention that these were idiot children?), and while I do relish the stress relief of verbally berating others, I didn’t want to negate that by getting my damned car rear-ended by someone else turning in to the subdivision.

So, I reluctantly continued home, wondering if they would have added their marker to the sign by the time I got in my garage.  I supposed I would know the next day on my way to work.  The obnoxious little shits….

And that’s when the part of me that is destined to become the mean old hag at the end of the cul-de-sac with the 15 cats who sits out on the front porch shaking her fist and yelling at those “damn kids” decided that she was not satisfied.  If I wasn’t going to yell at them personally, I was still going to teach ’em.

I called the cops.

Sure, it’s a small step.  It lacks the satisfaction of personally hollering and asking those kids why they can’t find anything better to do than deface others’ property, but there’s a certain amount of twisted “feel good” I get while imagining the local PD rolling up on the little miscreants and handing down a level of intimidation I’m not currently capable of providing.

In my imagined version?  They cry and repent.

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