Too Much Drama

     No matter where I go there's drama.  I don't plan it, I don't want it, I don't even like drama, but there it is....staring me in the face...snickering....waiting.

          I went shopping with my daughter in law the other day and we were having a really good time.  I wanted to check out a baby items consignment shop, so that's where the fun started.  We asked the lady in charge if there were any other consignment shops that sold baby items around town.  You would have thought we asked her to eat fresh roadkill.   Her face puckered up and she got this look that said she smelled something nasty, and she said, "The other place just accepts...."donations."  She said the word "donations" like it didn't taste good.  She informed us that they paid for their stuff, but the other place just took...."donations."  However, she reluctantly gave us the directions and made me feel like I needed to go stand in the corner some where.
     We really didn't realize there was a consignment shop class system.  So, we left the top of the consignment shop hierarchy to go to the lower class, peasant consignment shop. 
     When we arrived, we saw a really cute book shelf that would be so pretty in the new nursery, so we went in and checked it out.  Sixty dollars!  Really?  In the peasant shop?  We didn't stay long.  We asked directions for the servant consignment shop. 
     As we were leaving, I heard somewhere in the parking lot, a small, little yapping sound.  Uh oh.  Here comes the drama. 
     It was ninety seven degrees outside and we heard the sound of a little puppy coming from inside a parked car.  NINETY SEVEN degrees people!!  We drove around to see if we could find it, hoping that it would be in a vehicle with the windows down, but noooo, that would be way too easy. 
     There it was, in a car with the windows up to about 1/2 inch, it had on a little doggie sweater, it's leash was hung on something, and it was crying.  It was licking the window and licking a bottle that was in the cup holder. 
     You can call me a redneck, or you can call me a hotheaded red head, but I was furious!!!  We asked a young lady if it was her car, she said no but that she would go back in the store and ask.  No luck.  So, my sweet, little, soft spoken daughter in law went in to ask around, while I stood guard outside.  She asked an older lady if it was hers, and the lady was quite taken aback.  She said she would never do such a thing, but that Della should yell it out in the store. HA!  Well, of course, Della was too conservative for this, so the older lady took it upon herself to yell through the store for the owners and when they were located, the yelling didn't stop.  She yelled to them that if they didn't go RIGHT NOW and take care of that puppy that she was going to call the police.
     So, as they left their overloaded cart of peasant consignment shop goodies, I saw them begin to say something to my daughter in law.
    Number 1...don't leave a puppy in a hot parked car with the windows up.
    Number 2...don't ever, and I mean EVER, talk bad to my daughters in law.
    Number 3...always take heed of a mad, redheaded woman standing by your car, patting her foot, with her phone poised to dial 911.
     Well, after we said our words, and I used the word "stupid" several times, they got the message, got in their car and left. 
     After my blood pressure came back down to normal and my daughter in law quit shaking with fury, we headed out for the servant consignment shop and began to giggle about our little confrontation.  
     I don't recommend parking lot confrontations, and the right course of action would have been to call the police, but I did, and I didn't.  My bad.
     See what I mean....drama.