Patience is a virtue.

One that I decidely do not possess. I don’t know if it is the fact that I’m a control freak, or just not naturally a warm and cuddly person, but I am not patient. So do not tell me over and over and over for DAYS in advance exactly when you would like me at your house to pick you up, and then act all amazed when I managed to “do a real good job” getting to the doctor in only half an hour!

As though I wasn’t a 20-year-old who’s been driving for five years and drives that EXACT SAME ROUTE three times a week for school and OF COURSE I know how long it takes to get there or I would have STARTED FAILING CLASSES.

Not that you would care, because I do not have a penis or the first name “Steven”, and therefore could attain tenure at Harvard and it still would not be as important as whatever Golden Boy was doing at that time, but whatever.

And yes, somewhere in the four years of private school, five years of homeschooling, and the past five years I’ve been enrolled in college classes, I did, in fact, learn how to push the little button to make the handicap door open. I’m not sure if it was the law background or the four Latin courses, but boy something clicked and I can push buttons like nobody’s business now!!!

Finally, if I am driving and you say “Oh, nuts. I forgot something,” and I say, “Would you like me to turn?” do not just mumble discontentedly but TELL ME BEFORE I PASS REGENT DAMMIT.

*deep breath*

It wasn’t that bad. Mostly funny because he refused to remove his lips from the doctor’s butt, which I often find amusing. And the receptionist said I was beautiful. So not a bad day.

Except for the patience thing. Which I clearly must work on. I’m not a bitch. Seriously. My mother agrees.


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