Git Offa Mah Lawn, You Damn Kids!!!

I was driving home the other day, and in front of me was a tween (I haaaaaate that word) girl on her bike. I knew she had to be between the ages of 11-15, because she was wearing shorts that could double as a belt, and had highlighted hair that probably cost more than the entire contents of my refrigerator. She was weaving in and out of traffic like Amy Winehouse on a particularly spectacular bender, and as I rode the brake at a whopping 5 miles an hour with visions of lawsuits dancing in my head, a thought popped into my head:

“That little bitch is texting. I bet my fucking life on it.”

She finally wove over to the side long enough for me to pass her, and as I did, I looked over my shoulder to see that she WAS texting, goddammit! On a BIKE! In MOTION! On a road with AUTOMOBILES which were ALSO in motion! Without a HELMET! And I drove the rest of the way home in a rage, ranting and raving about the state of humanity today at the top of my lungs to exactly no one. Because I was alone in the car. And not texting. IN A MOVING VEHICLE.

My girls over at 30 is the New 13 and If You Believe, Clap are now (right now! Go read!) talking about pre-teen fiction they wrote/pre-teen characters they are trying to write, and how the pre-teen mind eludes all logic indeed. What the hell were we doing at that age? And more importantly, what the HELL were we WEARING? What did we DO before cell phones and MySpace and the internet in general? We were less likely to end up on “To Catch A Predator,” I know that for certain, but christ on the cross, at least we TALKED. Do pre-teens…talk? Anymore? I picture withered vocal cords and super-strength thumbs becoming part of the evolutionary process.

I know I am a bitter old lady, but I swear to god, if I see one more in-motion-vehicle of any sort with an operator in the midst of texting her fucking BFF, I am going to put on my old Anthrax t-shirt and Doc Martens and start bashing their highlighted heads in.

(This post is brought to you by my upcoming 31st birthday, of which I am not obsessing about AT ALL.)


Git Offa Mah Lawn, You Damn Kids!!! — 1 Comment

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