My Bratty Confesion...

I live in a fairly nice gated community. To get inside of the complex (now that the gates are finally working... again), one must key in their code at the call box outside of the gates. After the correct code is submitted, the electronic man voice, sounding much like a stiff butler, comes on over the loud speaker and says, "Please Enter."

Today, as I was pulling up to our complex, I noticed the vehicle ahead of me was one of the owners/developers. Not a man I'd rate well, on a scale of one to ten, of human beings that deserve to breath.

Ok, ok, maybe he deserves to breath, but I'm sure God, himself, has questioned this. He's not a nice man. I mean, REALLY not a nice man. Better known by many as a pyro type of guy that's probably tipped the scales on a little insurance fraud, not to mention the rest of his shady reputation and lack of honor in his business deals with many. Mostly, though, he just doesn't treat people well or fairly, and tends to lie more than your average liar finds necessary.

I understand that Mr. Pyro thinks I should be impressed because he has money.
I just keep forgetting. *blink, blink, blonde look*

My car idles quietly as I watch Mr. Pyro fumble with his code to enter the complex so he can do his little *criticize the world and everyone in the complex* drive through, then berate the manager for everything he thinks she hasn't done right. He's all ready fired one set of managers since I've been here. He'd criticize an ant in a driveway if he saw one. Probably teed his wife off.... again, so the home life may be a little dramatic and he's looking for a place to vent.

He's busy smoking a stump of a cigar with both windows rolled down on his truck while smoke drifts out and mixes in with the sticky hot, pollutant air. He fumbles with the codes longer than normal on the callbox, almost drops his cigar, then tries his code again. It's obvious he's having trouble with his code or forgotten it. It's not like he uses it often, but what little he does use is wayyyyyy to often for anyone that lives here.

I sit patiently behind him, examining my new orangish-pink summer nail polish, waiting for Mr. Pyro to either open the gate or move out of the way. He's about to swear at the callbox, looks like he wants to hit it, and truly appears to not be looking his best today. Perhaps he had too long of a conversation with his favorite brandy bottle last night, adding to his foul mood. I hadn't noticed last time I saw him that his hair was thinning so much, as I watch the slight breeze catch his combover and tease it out of place.

Glancing behind him he sees me sitting there and I watch as his shoulders relax, exhaling a sigh of relief. He recognizes me and knows I can open the gate.

And then, all of a sudden, I got hit by a lightening bolt with the kind of Divine Inspiration only a True Blonde can have.

As Mr. Pyro pulls forward and starts to drive around the culdesac circle at the front entrance, so he can pull his truck up behind me, freeing me to move forward, key in my code and open the gate, I followed him around the circle of the culdesac, trying hard not to grin , then casually drove off, waving a cheery *hello,* giving him my best blonde look as I left.

*tries not to giggle*

You should have seen the shocked, question mark look on his face.

And there he was, again, battling with his code in the callbox, trying to enter through the gates.

Me? I grinned all the way down the block trying to figure out where I should drive to while Mr. Pyro was inspecting the complex after he finally figured out how to key his code in correctly.

Monday there will probably be some complaint about me, but it won't be too bad. I was wearing a low cut cami that showed my tan and cleavage to it's best advantage when I dissed him. He noticed that more than my contempt for what a lousy person he is.

And that is my bratty moment confession for ... the month. *grins*