Why I am a hero.

September 16, 2011

When my sister was about 5 years old, I was her idol. She thought I was the cat’s pyjama’s, and I could never understand why. I still don’t understand completely, but after I recalled this incident, I could see why she’d think I was sort of aces.

It started in a second hand store where we were looking for old books. Okay, I was looking for old books and she was trying to get me to come and look at toys with her. Plus, old women kept coming up to me telling me how cute my daughter and I were.

Gross.

All of a sudden in the middle of our daytime jaunt, she looked at me with a look of absolute horror.

The woman at the front till of the store had to be 17. And she also had to be the SLOWEST talker in the entire history of the world. In the amount of time it took for her to answer my question, a baby could have been conceived and then born.

Did you know that the world sucks? And that people are totally horrible? So horrible that they won’t let a five year old use a washroom even though she looks like she’s about to explode? I didn’t, until that day. TO ALL OF THE PEOPLE WHO DIDN’T LET MY SISTER USE YOUR WASHROOM, I WISH A LIFETIME OF PEOPLE SUFFERING FROM DIARRHEA SNEAKING INTO AND USING YOUR WASHROOMS!

And so, I rush her into the mini-van I’d been lent to drive while visiting, I sped out onto the highway… and am stuck behind the slowest driving car in the history of time. A lot of slow that day. Very frustrating.

After a few choice words, something beautiful happened.

Secret Agent man came onto the radio. And I suppose in my frustration I snapped. I suddenly became a spy who would not stand for this lack of speed. I became that Secret Agent (wo)Man.

In a move I’m sure I would have been arrested for, I drove up onto the curb, around the old man (I hate it when I see living stereotypes) and sped the rest of the way home to deliver my sister to the porcelain gods.