Buttons...

Husband had a button he wore on the front of his shirt back when he was still in the teaching business. It said, “100% Fed Up” and after a few days his students learned the hard way that the button meant he wasn’t taking any crap from them.

Buttons are like personalized bumper stickers but you don’t have to use a razor blade and a whole bottle of alcohol to get them off. Cashiers wear them. Cheerleaders wear them. Mothers have their kids’ baseball pictures fixed into a button and proudly wear them on their jackets.

I’m thinking we could use buttons to make a statement about the day so folks would know how to approach us. We could keep spares in our pocket or our purse so that if our mood changed we could do an instant replacement.

Without a word, it could relay our feelings to the whole world with us having to explain a single thing. I’m making a list of the ones I intend to carry in my purse. It’s getting to be rather long so I might have to take on a second job to afford them all but it’ll be worth it. And probably be cheaper than a visit to the psychoanalyst.

This is my list…it does not have a copyright and you are welcome to use it as a foundation for your own list.

Well, the day was a total waste of makeup.

Don’t bother me. I’m living in happily ever after.

If I throw a stick, will you leave?

You! Off my planet!

Therapy is expensive. Popping bubble wrap is cheap. You choose.

Errors have been made. You will be blamed.

And your crybaby, green weenie hiney opinion would be…?
I’m not crazy. I have been in a bad mood for sixty years.

See no evil. Hear no evil. Date no evil.

Sarcasm is one more service I offer for free.

If the horse is dead, then get off and walk.

Do they ever shut up on your planet?

Housework done properly will kill you. I do not have enough money for a funeral.

Back off! You are standing in my aura!

Don’t worry! I forgot your name, too.

I just want revenge. Is that so wrong?

Is it time for your medication or mine?

I refuse to star in your psychodrama.

I am meandering to a different drummer today.

Not all men are annoying. Some are dead.

Can I trade this job for what’s behind door number two?

Chaos, panic and disorder. My work here is done.

Did I really shave my legs for this?

So which buttons would you buy to go into your collection?