It was one of those things that...happen. One minute you're cruising and the next...all hell breaks loose.
It was a kid's basketball game. Girls basketball. (But my girl can whip your boy...just ask him.) We won...The Not Nice Kid scored the winning goal in overtime. If you don't believe in levitation? You ought to see a bunch of fourth-graders come in off the court after a game like this one...floating on air. It was AWESOME. They were high-fiving every living thing within slapping distance.
An aside...I have a really cool camera, with an awesome sports lens, both of which were purchased under the influence of margaritas and the BEST damn impulse buy I EVER made. I take pictures of EVERYTHING, and I take them for EVERYONE. I spent most of Thursday uploading action shots from the new SportsPlex for the city to use. While I was looking for this mis-labeled file of pictures I started a search and according to that little dog who searched my computer, there are 140,953 photographs on here. Equal opportunity photographer. You want pictures of your kid? Call me...it's on here somewhere.
Keep in mind...this is really funny NOW. Whacko funny. But at the time? WTF?
We were leaving the gym and I had stepped outside to wait on my kids when this female walks up and says, "Why was your daughter taking pictures of my child?"
At that point, the surreal shit kicked in. I looked over my shoulder to see to whom she was SPEAKING, but damn if it wasn't ME. And being a little slow and a little excited and a little happy, I said, "What?"
And then the fight started.
According to this stranger, The Nice Kid, who had taken the camera after the game to get a team photo, had deliberately been taking pictures of this woman's daughter.
"I SAW her focusing in," she insisted.
At first, I just sort of blew it off. No, we weren't. Taking pictures of ANY specific child. "There are probably over 400 pictures on there from tonight," I assured her. "If you'll give me an email address, I'll send you some."
Wrong. Do NOT go bein' nice to The Idiots. Gets you NOWHERE.
Situation went from bad to worse. The woman is insistent...we are equally so. It had stopped being funny, and the woman was getting...threatening. TNK had walked outside, and when the woman jumped HER, TNK started crying. I started raising my voice.
The woman said, "I WILL be calling your administration in the morning." And just then I looked up and coming out the door was...The Administration. So I pointed and said, "You don't HAVE to...there's my principal."
This is actually the funniest part of the night. Our principal is drop-dead gorgeous. Classically so. Her daughter is on our team. She walked out of the gym, still on cloud nine with her daughter, and here stand a bunch of angry women, pointing at her. I honestly believe her mouth fell open. I know mine would have.
I started to explain, when the woman broke in...belligerently, I might add. TNK is crying, the principal is staring dumbfounded, I'm insistent and the woman is...crazy as batshit. Crazy. As. Batshit.
Just as things started to get interesting, the other team's coach came out of the gym and stopped things in their tracks. "This is OVER," she said, and marched the belligerent woman up the hill. We went back in the gym...you think I'M going out into that dark parking lot with Psycho Bitch out there? The coach came back and kept us there for an extra 15 minutes...apologizing. Turns out, this woman gets her jollies causing "problems;" seems she did the same thing when THIS child didn't get the same jersey number as the OLDER child.
Are you SERIOUS??????
We finally got in our car and on the way home, both kids crying. Took a couple of miles, but we started turning it around. Pointing out the funnies. Laughing at our imitations. Called and told Grandmother. Perfected our imitations. Embellished some.
Turns out, the next day the OTHER administration called to apologize. To us. No apology needed...it's over and it's funny now and ummm...you know that picture I had? Of that woman's daughter, arms extended, ball six inches off her fingertips, feet three inches off the floor? Soaring?
Deleted that sucker. Into the Recycle Bin, and then emptied it. You want pictures? Take your own because as it turns out?
THE BITCH VIDEOTAPED THE ENTIRE GAME.
Damn well better hope MY kid isn't on YOUR videotape...and since MY kid scored eight of the 12 points? You might want to DELETE that game.
I'm just sayin'.
Before someone goes Psycho Bitch on you.