I love a good verbal clash. There's nothing like a sparing of the minds with some clever linguistic acrobatics to challenge another's deeply flawed opinion. But, sometimes, on rare occasions, I simply have no strength to play tiger anymore. (Maybe that's my body's way of trying to tell me to disengage?)

This past Friday night was indeed such a moment. Having come off of work, followed by a strenuous workout and battling traffic for about an hour, I retreated to my mecca that is the Northbrook shopping area to find some retail therapy. My bargain basement hunting feast at the Nordstrom Rack and Filene's with a sprinkling of some Marshall's flavor was to be my escape into sanity. After spending far more money than I had, I meandered into the World Market store to get some odds and ends snacks and treats.  At this point, my proverbial dogs were barking and so I smartly decided to grab a shopping cart and store my bags in it instead of ambulating around the store like a pack mule, trying not to break, spill or fall. 

Approaching the register with about 6 items or so in my overly full cart, I realized that I'd be there for a while because the two ladies in front of me had accumulated quite a lot of merchandise to "redecorate their new home," or so I overheard. No bother, I thought, I'd pull out my Iphone and get some good emailing, texting and snooping on while I wait. All of a sudden I get shaken into reality by this obnoxious voice -- think Fran Drescher in "The Nanny" or Teresa Giudice from the Real Housewives of New Jersey. This high-pitched squeaky thing was hollering: "Scoooz me. Scoooz me!" I only have TREE small cups, I go first" all the while flailing her limbs with the cups in hand. Note the bad accent. French, I presumed. At this point, I was quiet. My husband who'd just arrived in the store spotted me in line and asked why I was grimacing. I didn't answer. Again she starts up: "I go first, okay? I just have TREE." By now, the store clerk had already told her that she'd called for backup so the lines would go faster. Paying no mind to that, the French lady tried to get my attention because I was next in line. Now, if she was less obstreperous and a little less nasal, I might have considered her request reasonable and let her cut in front of me. That not being the case, though, I barked out, "No, you can't. I have ONLY six items and I've all been waiting in line for a while."  The French beast didn't like that. She began her dramatic cacophony about how she has to go first and how "dis not right" and "dis" is not how it's done in "California" or "France."    

Feeling the radiating pain in my legs (that at this very moment were channeling tree trunks) along with some major hormonal attitude boiling up, I loudly told her "So, go back. We don't want you here." That really did it. My poor husband had to get between me and the beast because he actually thought we'd get into a physical altercation. She raved on and on about how there's "nothing for nothing" and how it's only in "Illinoizzzz" that this happens and this "not good" and people are "terrIBLE" here. Her bad English was only punctuated by her ravings in French, which my husband confirmed were illogical and equally irritating as well. I must have spent 10 minute arguing with her back and forth, trying to convince her that it's only fair to wait your turn and we've all been waiting for a while and learn to be civil. I could have easily told her to shove her "tree glasses" where the sun doesn't shine. Alas, I didn't. 

Even as I was leaving the store, I heard the French lunatic still causing a ruckus, this time yelling at the clerk for permitting this "nonsense" and further badgering him as to why he asked her if she wanted a "frequent buyer card." The rule here, I do believe, is that sometimes, you may over-estimate your opponent and then you end up looking silly for even starting.