Diplomas, Dolls, and a Diatribe

She's a college graduate. Diploma in hand, tassel switched to the other side, drama honor society drape in place, she's posed and smiled and said her good-byes to faculty and friends. She has a BA in History, minor in Film and Photography, Drama. Anyone want to hire a smart, educated young woman?

Rain held off long enough for the two hour ceremony, outdoors under ancient oaks, to run its course. Unfortunately, the bozos sitting behind us didn't run out of chatter. Talk, talk, talk, through every address, until my husband had to turn around and say something to shut them up. That wasn't the worst, however. One of these charming idjits brought a blowup sex doll to wave in the air at the graduate they'd come to celebrate. Mind you, this is a women's university, and this doll was garish, tacky, and embarrassing. Why bring it to graduation? Just so you can insult every woman there who'd worked hard to earn her degree? My youngest child took matters in her own hands. A pair of manicure scissors did the job. The idjit spent a lot of time trying to blow it up again, which meant he wasn't talking. Both pluses. My children are geniuses. I'm so glad we've raised smart girls.

Remember my rant about manners? Want to take bets these yahoos weren't from the South?

Now I get to watch the All Star Race at Lowe's on Tivo and relax for a bit. Life is good. Even better, it's time to get back to the writing. I'm a happy woman.