Girls, girls, girls

Yesterday afternoon my doorbell rang. On the other side of the door stood a group of girls. The spokeswoman informed me Chris sat on my car. Now, I know what to do if a group of boys shows up at my door with that kind of information (they would not), but girls are another story, so I was in uncharted territory.

Chris, it seems, lives next door. She of the hissy fits. I began by asking why she sat on my car. She shrugged. Then one of the other girls tells me if you sit on the hood of a car it might catch fire. Hmmm. I "knew" one of the girls -- some months ago, she sold me some ribbon she no doubt bought for half the amount I paid. I turned to her. She gave me the "oh, not me, I did nothing" look.

I asked Chris her age. I told her the other day when she had a screaming fit she acted like a 3-year-old. She told me her grandmother was the one screaming. I said no, I heard every word and she acted like a baby.

I told the girls sitting on the back of my car would be OK, which immediately sent them elsewhere. Girls and their drama. P.S. I coughed the whole time I talked to the girls. A cracker crumb went down the wrong pipe right before the doorbell rang. I think the girls wondered about that.

My best friend hurt my feelings yesterday. She did not know she hurt them. Reflecting on the words she said leads me to the conclusion that I am oversensitive. Best I jump in a hole for awhile.

I miss so much, Dude.

Later.