I have no reason to feel at loose ends...

...but I do.

Misha left around noon for the Renn Fest. I utterly failed to enjoy myself, even a little bit, at the Renn Fest last year, so I didn't join him.

(Why did I hate it so much? Um. Enjoying it seemed very much oriented around either (a) knowing a lot of people, or (b) having a lot of money to spend. I felt myself largely surrounded by a bunch of bouncy exhibitionists who made me feel old, serious, gawky, and unattractive. I couldn't afford anything. And the people I knew for whom the Renn Fest was a big thing were... well. Let's just say my feelings about them were mixed. All of this combined with my longstanding disinclination toward historical recreation, and left me not much in a position to have fun.)

Misha's meeting up there with a woman whom I have christened Miss Mango (well, actually "L'il Miss Mango," because most people get a "L'il" attached to their names when we're being cute. But when I type out "L'il Miss Mango" in black and white like that, it looks sarcastic. It isn't meant to be, honest.). Anyway, he met her on a geek-oriented personals site, and this will be their first in-person meeting. I find that I'm not particularly jealous - I'd actually like it if Misha had a girlfriend, or at least, I think I would - things would seem less imbalanced to me. Instead of being jealous, I'm feeling guarded and protective on his behalf. I don't like to think of him maybe being rejected. As this was a spur of the moment meeting arrangement, he didn't have a chance to tell her beforehand that he's married. On the one hand, you'd think that Rennies would be familiar with polyamory. On the other hand, I could see her freaking out or feeling tricked or something. She'd better be nice to him, and not hurt his feelings, or I'll scratch her l'il mango seeds out. *grin*

Bill stayed over last night, and left about the same time Misha did. I can't say that I'd want either of them here right now for actual interactive purposes, because I'm not feeling particularly social or energetic. But I'm finding myself not much liking being alone at home with no particular plans. At least, not right now.

I said I was going to go to the range, and maybe I'll do that. I'm kind of low on energy, though. Perhaps I'll have lunch first, and then go to the range and murder some poor, innocent bullseyes. Or maybe a nap. That could work.

If I were in charge of the world...

...I'd have immediate powers of retribution in situations like the one I just experienced, and I wouldn't be struggling to calm down from an aborted adrenaline rush right now. As it is, my fingers are having a bit of trouble finding the right keys.

I stopped off for some ice cream after visiting the range, and moments later three people sat down at the booth in front of mine: two older white women and a biracial girl, probably five years old. I heard the kid complaining in a mild sort of way, but it didn't really catch my attention until one of the older women started in, in vicious ringing tones that were impossible to avoid:

"You know what? Your house, the way you live, your room - it's disgusting. You're complaining that your chair is sticky? That's minor. That's minor compared to the disgusting way you live, the way you smell. It makes me sick."

I fixed her with my coldest death glare and hoped she'd stop, but she was oblivious. She kept going: "I can't believe the way you talk to your grandmother. My grandchildren would never talk to me that way. They have more respect. Do you know what my mother would do with you right now if she was here? She'd beat you with a belt. For being bad and disrespectful..."

It went on and on. I couldn't eat. I set down my spoon and glared at her, tried to decide if there was anything else I could do. Finally she met my gaze, angrily. "You got a problem?"

"Yeah." I knew it wouldn't do any good, but I didn't want my silence to imply complicity. "The way you're talking to that little girl is making me lose my appetite."

"Then don't eat."

"You've got no call to talk to her that way." I realized that this was only going to escalate if I stayed, and that escalation could only be bad for the kid, so I caught the attention of my waitress. "Could I be moved to another table? These people are bothering me." The evil bitch didn't say anything else, and I gave the kid an encouraging little smile as I went past.

And sat down elsewhere, and shook. And tried to tell myself: it doesn't sound like the evil bitch is actually the child's mother or grandmother. Hopefully she has limited contact with the kid. You can't call CPS in a situation like this. Anything else you do to try to intervene is only going to make things worse for the kid once you're gone.

By the time I finished my ice cream, they were gone. I don't think they even ordered.

I'm still shaking. That poor kid. That evil bitch of a woman. What on earth possesses a person to think that it's okay to talk to a child that way? I tell you, if I were in charge of the world, that woman would be a greasy smear on the vinyl seating, and the kid would be on her way with strict instructions not to let anyone tear down her soul... and I wouldn't feel so goddamned impotent right now.