Yesterday I took Beatty to school as I normally do.  We pulled up to the curb, and since it’s a busy time of morning, a lady in a huge Suburban in front of us had stopped in a double-parked sort of fashion.  This happens all the time…nothing new.  If you are close enough to a spot at the curb you just wiggle in and wait for the parent in front of you to move because they will be gone in less than thirty seconds.

I parked right behind the Suburban and Beatty gathered up his backpack, getting ready to climb over Sloan and exit the door that is closest to the curb.  The Suburban in front of me and I are both parked the tiniest bit near a driveway area that has a couple of sixth grade crossing guards working the crosswalk.  They are not crossing kids in front of us, mind you.  They are crossing them ON THE SIDE OF US.

All of the sudden I see a mom careening around in the driveway.  She is in walking shorts and a royal blue t-shirt  and she’s waving her arms crazily, hopping around like a caffienated jumping jack on crack.  I guess the car in front of me rolled down her passenger window – BIG MISTAKE - because I saw the nutty lady poking her head in the Suburban and undoubtedly yelling at the lady because she was officially in a non-approved parking zone within the designated school drop-off and pick-up area.

She has taken it upon herself to become the parking police of our school.  Everyone can breathe deeply.  The lady in walking shorts is officially in charge.

I told Beatty, “Get out QUICK honey!  There is a crazy lady out there!”

And Beatty is all confused and got out to hustle up to school and slammed the car door.

It’s a good thing he shut that door tightly, because that wacked out freak was now closing in on my passenger window, screaming and pointing and waving her arms like I had just run over a handful of kindergarteners.  I did NOT give her the satisfaction of rolling down my passenger side window to hear her diatribe.

I did, on the other hand, give her a very satisfying Piper crusty glare that said YOU ARE ONE EFFING CRAZY BITCH while I looked at her right in her beady eyeballs.  And then I drove off.  And then I wished my friend Amy wasn’t living in New York because we could laugh a lot about this over a bottle of wine.