Don't you just hate being patronized?
Standing in the plumbing section at Lowes...
A three (almost four) year old doing naughty things in the shopping cart...
Trying to guage whether I need to purchase soldering wire for more silverware...
And then, a big sweaty guy walks up.
Do you even know what you need? he smirks.
Yes, I know just what I need (walking away).
I'm still fuming as we pull out of the lot.
It was the tone (and the laughter) even more than the question.
I am an artist, I need this for my work. Period.
(This is what I figure I should have said).
Or, how about, hey buddy, walk your sweaty self into a fabric store and we'll see who's lost then!
Thank you for allowing me to vent.
All is well now and I'm moving on (but saving the comeback - the artist one - just in case I need it someday - and filing it in the back of my brain).
Trouble is, the filing room in my brain? I think the door is locked, and the key only becomes available after such incidents occur.