A Fred & Towanda!

I have an imaginary boyfriend!  Well, that’s what I call him to my husband Ricky-Bobby! Now Ricky knows about my boyfriend and isn’t too jealous.  My tall drink of water is in his 70’s, doesn’t speak a lick of English, is gainfully employed as a security guard at the grocery store, and doesn’t know he’s my boyfriend.  We will call him, Fred.

I go to the same store like a MILLION times a week because:

1. My refrigerator is the size of a small piss pot!

2. It’s right up the street from me. 

I first met Fred when I couldn’t get my Zlote coin in the cart.  (Or as my brother, Sporting, calls the money…Zoytles)  Fred walked up to help me and with that blossomed a relationship of him helping me each time, because I’m blonde and can’t figure the damn thing out! After the 100^th time, I told Ricky Bobby that Fred was my boyfriend.  Ricky being Ricky thought, “OK lady what every floats your boat and makes the time pass for ya!” aka “Crazy Ass!”

Lately, Fred has wanted to take our relationship a bit farther with a little hands on action!! The other day I was walking out of the store with my goods, when Fred mumbled something at me to make me stop.  I stopped, he looks at me, I look at him, then he reaches in....OMG What the hell’s going on here!  Then it happens……..he fixes my jacket hood.  With a smile he pats me on the back, like I’m next on the field.  AWKWARD!!!

As awkward as it was, I was giggling inside…someone was nice to me!! A Polish someone at that! So out I went, hiding my happiness in my head, so not to let the others see my happiness and give me the stink eye. Now in Poland you can have a fun happy moment, but usually it doesn’t last very long and something frustrating will happen to take away your joy.

I was backing my car out of a spot and ready to drive off when of course I get cut off. Getting cut off isn’t anything new, it happens a MILLION times a day; when I return to the States I will definitely need rehab for my road rage issues.  The first step is admitting I have a problem, and boy do I! (I may need shock treatment) But back to my story… the “gentleman” that cuts me off has the balls to start yelling at me.  Again, the yelling happens a MILLION times a day, but this day I took it personal! How can this shithead mess with my happy moment!!! So what did I do?  You got it, started yelling words, words I cannot type with hands that hug my mother, and throwing my hands in the air, and waving them like I just don’t care!  I was so filled with rage, it took all of me not to:

TOWANDA his ass!!!

I was of course the bigger person and drove off instead. 

And that my friends, is how a sweet moment with my imaginary boyfriend turned into road rage!
-Mandy