Talk dirty to Grandma.

I'm an asshole.

It was absolutely ridiculously gorgeous today and not too unbearably hot, so I decided to be a good mom/pet owner and take Punky and Bodhi for a walk. The neighborhoods around here are cute, pretty, and well-arbored, so I figured why not -- it gets my ass off Perez Hilton for half an hour.

So as I am walking down the street, I see coming at me a teal Corsica -- identical to what my friend from high school, M drives. I live around the corner from where she went to school, so even though she graduated, it wouldn't be too incredibly far-fetched for her to be in the neighborhood. The car had Ohio plates (which is where I'm from, and out of place here). And there was a short driver. (M stands at 5'0.) So of course it had to be her.

Maybe it was my sunglasses, or the glare of the sun off the windshield, or maybe I am just dumb. But I was about 98% certain this was M driving toward me. And so, as the car approached me, I let out a hearty bellow:

"SLUT!!!!!"

(Which in our circle of friends is a term of...um...endearment.)

(And never mind that I had my infant in a stroller with me. She's not absorbing any of this stuff yet, right? I mean, she's just mastering motor skills and colors and shapes and putting toys in her mouth, I doubt she's really taking in the offensive things that regularly come spewing out of my mouth... right?)

That 2% of uncertainty let me down. It was not M driving the car. I don't even know if it was M's car. I do know that there was a tiny old woman driving the car who stared at me with her thick old people sunglasses (the kind the cover pretty much their whole head?), baffled and confused why an otherwise nice-looking young lady with a baby and a little dog is screaming such an insult as her as she's out for her Saturday joy ride to the plant nursery, or the bingo hall, or wherever it is old people wander off to.

I do what I can to keep the local geriatric community on edge.