They come in all shapes and sizes, and usually end up in front of you at the grocery checkout with a fist full of crumpled ones that you are almost certain they stole from their stepson's piggy bank.
I have no patience for them.
I tend to think, as I get older I will see them coming, be able to duck out the back door ... sneak into a Mensa meeting or something, but then they do something that touches me. They pull one of those I'm so pathetically inept people moves, that I begin to feel less superior than obligated to help. I mean, God blessed/ cursed me with a higher intelligence than them, right? So maybe I am supposed to help.
Oh, Sweet Baby Jesus. Save me from myself.
Because, let me say this- out loud standing nekked in the back yard moonlight .
YOU CAN NOT HELP STUPID PEOPLE.
But, you can play deaf and mute in a Publix store in Northern Georgia and throw down
a twenty dollar bill after drawing a very large smiley face across the back.
Then run.
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