Impatience and a British Smith's . . .

My impatience, at times, astounds me.  Either I was in a very impatient mood today or everyone else in the world was moving in slow stinkin' motion.  I happen to believe it was the latter.  Maybe it was because I haven't gone out or gone shopping in awhile leaving my patience threshold sorrily depleted.  Whatever the case, I felt as if I was standing in lines behind people disguised as snails.  I went into Big 5 Sporting Goods and by the time I made it up to the one checker that this crackerjack establishment provided, I had relived the entire screening of The Green Mile and was once again feeling that someone, maybe Tom Hanks, owed me those 3 hours of my life back with his sincerest apologies for ever having made that movie.  Anyway, I am delving off track, but I do have to admit that I haven't been the most patient of individuals lately and hope to change that.  In doing that I must remember that baby steps are the key.  It was complete lunacy to think that I could handle Riverdale Walmart on a Saturday - that's like the World Series of patience!  I probably should start with a T-Ball game and build my patience through a Wednesday afternoon at La Ranchera - I will let you know how that goes.

Just as impatience seemed to be my friend today, so did randomness.  I think I did the whole dancing with an individual who was walking towards me as we both said, "You go . . No, you go,  ahh okay, oops, ahhh - no really YOU go", like 40 times.  Then there was the waitress who to save her life couldn't understand my mother and kept leaning in saying, "What?" or "Excuse me?" . . . I wish you could have been there to enjoy when my mother, also having a hard time understanding her, asked her to make sure they didn't put bacon on her sweet potato  - - - priceless.   While those were great I do have to say that the moment I stumbled upon a Smith's gas pump that seemed to have been brought over from Britain takes the highlight of the day.  I was struck by this . . 

     I felt so regal and royal and well, British, as if Geeves himself in his butler tux and top hat, would next pop out from behind the pump and kindly ask, "Dearest Mum, would you prefer Regular or Premium on this fine afternoon?", to which I would reply(in my grandest British accent), "Why kind sir, I do say that I fancy the regular today" - ahh to be British.  It was a delightful experience and I believe that we all, at one time or another, deserve to feel as prim and proper as the British, and what better a place to feel as such then while purchasing gasoline.