I just watched some jerk kid kick my car. I walked into my bedroom to open the window blinds to let some light in, and there he was walking along—a pasty, ginger, child. I didn’t think anything of it until he turned ever so slightly, kicked my car and than continued on down the sidewalk—likely to kick every other car in his path. I would never have known this was happening, if I didn’t have the idea in my head that window blinds must be open during daytime hours to let the light in—even if nobody is in that room. The very thing that I do to make me a little happier during the day, ended up stabbing me in the back today.
I don’t have a very nice car. In fact, it’s about as barebones as a car can get in 2013—but it’s mine, and I don’t like when children kick it. (Honestly, I should say I don’t like when anybody kicks it.) It isn’t because I don’t want the paint ruined or anything, I gave up on that after I had the front bumper torn off in a fender bender. (I caused the fender bender, but an alloy rim caused all of the damage. I’m a terrible driver.) I just don’t want people to kick or touch my car. It was expensive. (I should say that it is expensive, because I’m still paying for it.)
I went to open the blinds while taking a tiny break from blogging to get some water. I was originally going to blog about my ugly chair, because a commenter asked for me to post a photo of it. Well, you can’t just post a photo of a chair without a story behind it, so I was trying to come up with one. I guess I could say that the jerk child who kicked my car gave me something to blog about, and an adequate story behind the photo of my chair that is going to be at the end of this entry—but my outlook on life is not that positive.
I kind of just want that kid to fall off of a bike or stub a toe or something right now. How old am I?
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