“Excuse me.” I was raised properly. I was taught to always use polite words. Anyone who was raised properly and given a good home knows to use polite words.
“Oh,” Honestly, I don’t know how people live with bad childhood. Mine was near perfect. And I’m not just saying that to brag. I was given the gift of a good Catholic home with a proper upbringing. And I’m not afraid to say so.
“M’am, could I get buy?” This woman was intolerable. I’ve always been taught that you give people 35 days of excuse after they lose a loved one. For 35 after their spouse’s death, they are excused from normal behavior. It’s silly, but it’s in the Bible.
“What?” Mrs. Tabitha Warren. She’d been so distracted since her husband died. I don’t spread rumors, because that creates chaos, but I did hear that she has only been able to sit by the lake feeding the birds. Poor soul. She moved aside.
“Mrs. Warren?” She stared at me blankly. Seeing as I was raised to be a proper gentlemen, I know that the etiquette is to address the widow by “Mrs.” Until she requests otherwise.
“Don’t you dare call me that.”
“Oh dear I’m sorry.” I could feel the sweat beading on my forehead. “I just wanted to know if you needed help with your groceries.” My pastor says that a proper gentlemen is kind and considerate to other members of the church. And before Tom Warren died, the Warrens were at Church service nearly every Sunday since before I was born.
“Do I look like I need your help carrying my birdseed? If I did, don’t you think I would ask my stupid husband to do it?”
“Yes. Of course Ms.” She had twenty twenty-nine days to behave like this. After that, it was uncordial conduct. And the Bible says I don’t have to tolerate it. Sometimes before I go to sleep, I wonder what it’s like to live with a bad childhood on your back. That must be such a burden to live with. Like a small child-version of yourself strapped to your leg. Constantly begging you to hang on to the past.
