Rude

Am I rude? Today, when I was running errands in South Royalton, I was about to go into the diner when a friend called to me from the sidewalk. One foot in the door, Ira had already rushed on in ahead of me, I paused, maybe twenty seconds, to answer her question, but it was twenty seconds too long for the cranky lady who stalked over and told me I was a rude and inconsiderate person for holding a door open to talk to someone while it was FREEZING outside. (I, myself, was only wearing a thin raincoat because it's somewhere around 42 degrees.) Anyhow, I felt really bad, like I was the biggest jerk in the world. Especially when I heard the woman complaining, loudly to her companion about how thoughtless people are these days. Was I? Was I just being dumb and careless? Should I already know the answer to this?

The other night at Zumba, I had another "rude" moment when halfway through the class, I took a quick break to swig some water and looked around the room to see who was there (My back is usually to everyone while we dance). The town pastor caught my eye, granted, she's a doll, very kind and fun, but still I frantically sorted through my memory to recall what music I'd been playing all evening, and blushed deeply knowing it was the raunchiest of the raunchy. There's a reason the class is labeled PG-13. I know it wasn't a true issue to worry about, after all, she's a grown woman, married, probably heard everything, and she's choosing to attend my class, but still, it felt a little rude of me to be grinding my hips with a minister right behind me, you know?

Sometimes I catch myself staring into space when people talk to me, and then wandering away before they've finished saying whatever it is they were saying. How rude. Sometimes, I forget to return phone calls and e-mails, I don't mean to, it just happens. How rude. Sometimes I tell people we'll hang out soon, and then I never make an effort to make it happen. How totally rude. Sometimes I watch something lame on the computer and don't bother to do the dishes, and then I complain the house is a mess when Justin gets home. Utterly rude. I always stick my tounge out when someone tries to take my picture. Rude. I tell people when I hate their shirt. OK, only my sisters, but still...it's rude.

So, fact is, it seems I'm a little rude, or maybe a lot...depending on if a draft from an open door went up your house-dress and got your panties in a twist.