Butterfly Meets Angry Hobbit

There are mutually exclusive things in this world, like being hot and being a whale, me and commitment, celibacy and pregnancy and the list goes on. Just in case you’ve been part of the mis-informed, drop to you knees and thank me for reiterating (very strongly in this case) one more insert to this list.

Being a Hobbit and Rude.

I don’t care who the fuck you are. You are NOBODY if you cannot get that box of cereal from the top shelf of the supermarket without having to call for assistance. Yes, I believe this would actually qualify them to be in the Paralympics.

And being rude at the same time?! You’d better have something to show for other than being the tallest midget in Serangoon or Tampines or I don’t give a fuck where, not when you should be in the Shire with the rest of the little people.

I was on a high. One 3 min therapeutic session of intense hypnosis by the cutest swaying ass I’ve seen at my work place, does wonders to your anticipation for a night date with Michael Scofield and Myojo delicacies. Yes, maybe I’ll sneak in something naughty during commercials.

Then 5mins later, I made a hobbit mad.

I elbowed her right in the chin while cramped in the train and trying to remove my wallet from the back pocket. If she had proper facial features like shaped brows and lesser moles, I’d have wished she was taller just so that I’d have scored on the boobs instead of a measly chin(protected with one huge mole no less).

It’s ok to have one mole, provided it isn’t protruding and hairless, but this girl had enough to alphabetize them all. She only needs to get a facial tan to qualify as a chocolate chip cookie.

Perhaps she didn’t hear my apologies or perhaps I had forgotten to engage courtesy, but this is beyond excuse to roll eyes at me. And like all matured Hobbits, she called her friend on the phone and I swear the ensuing monologue went like this,

She: “Some idiot just elbowed me and dunno how to say sorry. These people ah.. “

And it went on.. and on. The resonance of irritation, personified by one under-developed Hobbit, pissed possibly because she was passed off the chance to bear the ring. The amplification of this oral aggression is usually only met with one consequence, a good ass whooping.

I was deciding between punching (in this case, downwards) or a swift knee thrust to her jaws. Either of which was at equi-distance and both of which would be generally sufficient to shut her up.

And for the distance between 4 stations, I had to hear her bitch about that ‘one idiot’ who refused to apologize to her. Yes, at the 3rd station, it became,

She: “…and he STILL hasn’t apologized.”

I murmured ‘sorry’ 3 stations ago and I’m not about to start regressing into a mea culpa with you just because you have ONE imaginary friend on the phone.

Why are the little people always so angry?

Don’t blame me if the world hates you or that you can’t take roller coasters due to severe violations of height requirements. You’re angry because jeans lengths don’t start from 15 inches. You’re pissed because in zero-point, when the kid’s say waist level, you have to hold the line to your chin. You’re upset because you need the kerb to get off bicycles.

But hey, at least you get to snorkel in the shallow pools. We can’t.