Cynicism and I
go hand in hand like cream cheese on a bagel.
Sometimes, people understand my humor. Most times, it weighs me down like a grown child who doesn’t want to eat it’s vegetables. No one ever told me “timing is key” when it comes to being an asshole, I suppose.
A few days ago, I was walking my manly pooches with my mom when a small child started screaming bloody murder. “I want to pet the wolves,” he kept on. Before I knew it, the child was hugging the heads of our large, ravishing hounds when his mom yanked him back scolding, “No!”
This is a completely reasonable response to a child violating stranger’s personal space. Why I said “wow, okay” as if she was committing a cardinal sin is beyond me; but the woman started apologizing to me as if she actually committed a cardinal sin!
Thinking about her desperation for me to say “it’s okay” turns my face white. Maybe it’s because I was dead tired, but I couldn’t choke out any empathy for the poor woman. The scenario was just devastatingly awkward.
There have been many instances like this throughout my life, instances where I’m rude almost upon reflex. I’ve always kind of known I’m an asshole, but I didn’t realize the severity of it until that woman started pouring herself on me.