Punch A Hippie In The Face Day

So I actually almost punched a hippie in the f@#king face yesterday.

As you can tell from the previous post, I had to pick up my boss's kid at their home and safely deliver her to her studio for a photo shoot. I get to my boss's place, helped myself to a cheese stick, borrowed her NY Post and waited for her kid to show up from camp. Finally she gets there, and we already have a crisis- the clothes she had put out for her daughter for the photo shoot were accidentally put away by the housekeeper, and we couldn't find them. Now, me and my debit card had a hot date with Bed Bath and Beyond later, so I needed to get this sorted out right quick. I told the eccentric 8 year old to dress herself and she did. I had to send my boss a text apologizing in advance for her choice of clothes. Let's just say that if Punky Brewster and a Midwest Wall Mart shopper collided, that's what you'd get. Turquoise leggings, ratty purple shirt with a cartoon or a band on it or something. And we're off.

The subway experience was relatively smooth. The trains weren't too crowded, and people were generally really polite when it came to the fact that I was dragging around an 8 year old color explosion. Finally we get to Times Square and we're about to cross the street when it happened. The massive protesters wearing big white boards with dead people on them started to swarm around us. They, too, were waiting for the light to change. I guess yesterday was the anniversary of Hiroshima. For me it usually gets overshadowed by the fact that I think my father's birthday is around this time, and he is a disaster of another degree. But back to the hippies.

So now my boss's daughter can't help but notice we are being surrounded by these white board people and so I explained, "Those are protesters. They're marching to show that they don't like bombs." And that's when it happened. The rattiest one of them all, you know the type, white middle aged white woman who was probably raised in Connecticut, she's the buzzkill of parties, really angry all the time and can't keep her mouth shut. Mind you, I am a proud feminist, liberal and borderline socialist, so I generally have a very high tolerance for this kind of stuff. But seriously, don't ever approach a child. She actually had the balls to turn to my boss's daughter and start lecturing her about Hiroshima, then turns to me all, "You should be teaching her this stuff!"

If looks could kill, we'd have a dead smelly tree hugger on our hands. That bi@#h made me wish I had a rifle made out of baby seal fur, Styrofoam and the blood of oil-tanker-spill slicked doves. Instead of giving her what she wanted I just muttered something about, "Yeah, I was trying to talk to her about it..."

The light changed, I grabbed the girl's hand and we sprinted across the street. Almost safely to our destination I turned to her and said, "What do you think, do we need bombs?"

She thinks about it and goes, "Well at least for movies."