I will blog little. There is hatred in my heart.
Rockstar practices his numbers by punching in our apartment access code. When Rockstar gets it correct but the door still doesn’t unlock, I put him down to get out my access card for a swipe.
Right when another mum rounds a corner and pushes the door open without looking (she’s preoccupied with her own toddler, pushed by her husband in a stroller behind her). I call out and reach for the door but she pushes so hard I can’t keep it from hitting Rockstar in the back of his head. Hard.
“That was HARD!” (Rubbing Rockstar’s head – he’s a trooper, doesn’t even cry when he gets shots in the clinic.)
“Well, I COULDN’T SEE!” (With arm waving and arguably more feeling than me.)
“It was an accident” (calmly). Her husband is still holding the stroller and door as she marches righteously past me while I hold my son and rub his head. Her husband holds the door open and gestures for me to pass first, before asking if Rockstar is alright.
His wife says nothing.
It is MY child she has hit with the door. How come she gets to be the bitch?
OH COME ON!!!! OF COURSE YOU DIDN’T GIVE A SHIT, IT WASN’T YOUR CHILD!!
Of course it’s a freaking accident – who goes around slamming children’s heads with doors on purpose?
But I’d really like to see how magnanimous and forgiving she is right after seeing her child get slammed hard in the head with a door because of someone’s carelessness.
How many of us could possibly see that and totally swallow “Oh! Sorree!”? Unless you’re Jesus.