I’m Judging You

 

animals-giving-you-tough-love-1-9311-1361846334-0_bigI am judging you.

There, I admit it.  I am judging you.  All of you.  Every single person I see.  I don’t want to judge you.  I know that it is wrong, especially in today’s feel-good, we’re-all-in-it-together, everyone-is-special society.  But I can’t help it.  The second I look at you, I judge you, even if it is only for a moment before I either suppress the urge or I forget about you completely.  I observe what you are doing/saying/wearing/eating/buying/ect and I judge you.

And you know what?  That’s ok.  Because you do the same thing when you look at me.

We all judge each other, even if we don’t like to admit it.  We have to judge each other.  That is how our brain works.  It has the need to put things into categories.  When you look at a person, your brain automatically registers information and puts what it sees into a little box with other things that are similar.  We have lots of little boxes in our heads to sort things into.  Animal, vegetable, mineral, black, white, old, young.

Some of those boxes have much less flattering categories written on them.  You know what I’m talking about.  The ones that you wouldn’t admit to anyone.  Slut, white trash, lazy, frumpy, stuck up.  Those terrible descriptions that flash through your head before you tell yourself to stop, because you are being mean, and you can’t be mean to people, even if it is in your own head.  And you know what?  That’s ok, too.  Think whatever you want about other people.  That’s your prerogative.  Just keep them to yourself, because once you start voicing those judgements you become an asshole.

Today I’ve decided to be an asshole.

I’m going to lay it all on the line and tell you who I’m judging and why.

To the overweight mom with the overweight kids and the shopping cart full of junk food….I’m judging you.  I realize that your weight issues could be medically related, but I have a hard time believing that when I see a shopping cart full of soda, candy, Pop Tarts, lunch meat, chips, and other crap, with the only vegetable in sight being a bag of potatoes.  I don’t know your life or your story, but I find it impossible to believe that you can’t do better for yourself and your family.

To the mom at Target with the cell phone glued to her head, gabbing loudly about how trashed you got at the party last night, while your kid runs screaming through the grocery department, knocking everything off of the shelves, and plowing into strangers….I’m judging you.  I know how hard it is to have a phone conversation when you have kids.  Maybe this is the first party you have gone to in a year.  Maybe your kid is hyperactive.  Or maybe you are just a complete dick who doesn’t care what your kid destroys as long as you don’t have to clean it up.  I don’t know.  But I’m judging you anyway.  Hang up the phone, grab that little bugger, and frog march him over to the nearest employee to apologize for trashing their department.

To the mom in the designer everything, who is looking at my no-name jeans and sneakers with disdain…I’m judging you as you judge me.  I can not for the life of me understand why you would pay an extra $100 for a pair of boots, just to have a specific designer’s label slapped on the side of them.  I can get the same quality clothing for half what you paid.  Because I don’t care who made it, and I don’t understand why you do.  Don’t you have anything better to spend your money on, than some logo?  If not, I could give you the names of a few charities that could use that extra $100.  Or you could give it to me.  I’ll even write my name on your purse for you, if you’d like.  You could own a one-of-a-kind piece!

To the guy with the anti-gay marriage bumper sticker….I’m judging you.  And I’m assuming you are a dick who doesn’t understand the separation of church and state.  You don’t see the Jews pushing for a national ban on pork, do you?  No.  Because the keep their religion out of politics.  I don’t care what the Bibles says about marriage.  It has nothing to do with what the law should say about it.

To the guy who doesn’t use his turn signals….I’m judging you.  And I’m assuming you are a douche in every other aspect of your life.  The little stick is right there, next to your left pinky finger.  Up is right.  Down is left.  Give it a shot, jerkface.

To the lady at the grocery store wearing sweat pants and curlers in your hair….I’m judging you.  And also kind of envying your “who gives a shit” attitude.  You look like a hot mess, but kudos to you for not caring.

To the dad at the playground who is too busy screwing around with his smart phone to pay attention to his kid, who is begging him to come push them on the swings….I’m judging you.  Maybe you are doing work on there.  Maybe you are playing Candy Crush.  Doesn’t matter.  Put it down and push the swing.  Because you know what?  Whatever you are doing can’t be more important than letting your kid know that you are there for them, paying attention to them, that you care about making them happy.  Don’t teach your kid that they are an interruption.  Teach them that they are worthy of your time and attention.  You brought them to the park, now go play.

To the lady in the natural section of the grocery store that smells like BO…I’m judging you.  I’m all for being green and crunchy, but there is no excuse for smelling like a bologna sandwich.  Seriously, if you are anti-deodorant, there are plenty of alternatives that work very well.  Find one that works for you.  Don’t make the rest of us suffer.

To the dad who is talking to his buddies about the fags or niggers down the street…I’m judging you.  Not only are you a bigot, but you are spreading your poison to everyone who can hear you.  Including your kid.  You aren’t doing your kids any favors by making them little carbon-copies of yourself.  Being a bigot won’t get them far in this world.  It won’t make them friends or get them hired to decent jobs.  Plus, if your kid starts bullying my girls you will have to deal with me.  And you do NOT want that to happen.

To the exhausted mom with the box of generic diapers, milk, and bread who is trying to scrape the last few quarters out of her purse to pay for her order…..I’m judging you.  And my heart bleeds for you.  I see the desperation in your eyes, the name tag from the crappy, minimum wage job in your purse, and the baby snot smears on your shoulder.  All I want to do is hug you and tell you that it will be ok.

To the lady behind the mother of three small children, who is rolling her eyes and sighing while the mother separates her WIC items from the rest of her meager grocery order while trying to control her tired, hungry kids….I’m judging you while you judge her.  I’m happy that you have never needed a little help.  I’m ecstatic that you have never worried about how you were going to feed your children.  But not everyone is that fortunate.  Especially these days.  Sometimes we all need a little help.  And a little compassion.  So back off, keep your stink eye to yourself, and tell that mother that she’s doing a great job.

So there you have it.  There are a million more.  One for each person I meet. Its not PC or socially acceptable to admit it, but there it is.  I’m judging you.  And you are free to judge me.  That’s what the comment section is for, after all.  😉

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