I am a horrible person. No, really. I am. I yell at small children. And I do it not in a nice way, as if there were such a thing. No, I do it with my voice dripping with vile venom.

See it all started yesterday afternoon as I was sitting in my hidey hole in the backyard. It’s a lovely spot towards the back of the backyard between the fountain and the orange shrub. Right next to the plum twig. We have an orange shrub, an apple stick, a plum twig, and a peach tree. I have no idea what we call the lime or lemon trees as they’re new and our relationship with them is still too tenuous to mock them.

So I’m sitting in my hidey hole listening to the water in the fountain, smelling orange blossoms, and watching a hummingbird tell me off for being outside during prime eat out of the flowers on the orange tree time. Every once in awhile I knit a row. Most of the time I stare off into space enjoying the fruits of two year’s labor.

Out of no where my paradise is intruded upon by “MOMMY!” a .68 second pause “MOMMY! THE UMBRELLA FELL DOWN!” Shaken, I come out of my daydream and look around. I see no children. And I really don’t see any that should be calling me mommy. Half way through this train of thought, “MOMMY! MOMMY! THE UMBRELLA FELL DOWN! MOMMY! MOMMY! MOMMY! MOMMY! MOMMY! THE UMBRELLA FELL DOWN! MOMMY! MOMMY!” Nightmares are made of this. At the very least birth control commercials.

Without a thought in the world I yelled back “So pick the god-damned thing up.”

Cue opening of the neighbor’s screen door, father saying “Ok, Nick it’s time to come in for dinner.” and their sliding glass door slamming closed. I’ll note it was three in the afternoon. And today? They won’t even make eye contact with me. Nice. I’m going straight to hell and it will be filled with small children screaming single words repeatedly at the top of their lungs.