It has been so cold in New York this week that the bagel I bought for the kids from our usual guy on the corner was filled with frozen cream cheese. Luckily, the kids still have some baby teeth. Cause they totally could have lost one.
This morning, with all that miserable ice and the frozen rain, that last little incline to the bus stop felt like a trek to the summit of some bleak asphalt mountaintop, but we made it and queued up with everyone else. (Yes, we ‘queue up.’ We get on at the first stop every morning and we line up. So sue us for being so British.)
Luckily, the bus arrived quickly and the kids and I shuffled along with everyone else to get on. Fast. (Did I mention it was cold?) And then, she arrived. The Woman Without Children. The WWC just walked up, passed the line, and started to get on the bus.
“Excuse me.” I say. No reaction. “Excuse me!” I yell. She turns.
“There’s a line.” I say.
“Yeah, well I’m cold,” she announces, as if that settles it.
“I’m cold,” said the three year old in front of us to his Mom.
“Yeah! We’re all cold.” The mob was getting angry. Mothers were banding together against her. Kids were gathering up snowballs to run her out of town.
Only not really. We all just stood there. Shocked, or maybe just frozen, and watched WWC get on the bus before all of us well-behaved, setting an example for our children Moms and our Popsicle toed kids.
I was enraged all day. But I guarantee she never gave it another thought. Guess there are all kinds of ways to be cold.