The Little Prince, a k a John Michael, the eldest grandchild, got his regular drivers' license a couple of months back. He got a part-time job, too, at the Sports Fanatic at John's Pass. What he didn't get when he achieved the ripe old age of 16 was common sense.
So ... in the first couple of weeks of his solo driving career, he rear-ended someone in his father's car and a week or so later got a ticket for driving 24 mph over the speed limit.
I think the cop gave him a break and didn't charge him with driving 25 over the limit.
Anyway, after each incident, his parents did what parents are supposed to do: lectured him about responsibility, how awful he'd feel if he hurt someone else, etc., etc., blah, blah, blah.
Then they sent him across the street to my house because they knew I'd call a spade a spade.
Actually, I called him Shit For Brains.
That he understood.
SFB withstanding, he and I have a wonderful relationship. He knows I know what's going on. And I know he's a 16-year-old with ranging hormones and an undeveloped brain. All he wants to do is propogate the species and slay the dragons. Too bad he - and all the rest of the 16-year-olds in the world - live in the 21st Century.

And now to another modern problem.
I work part-time at Chico's in BayWalk in downtown St. Petersburg.
I do it, I joke, to pander to my addiction to Chico's clothes.
My kids are amazed that I have lasted there for about five months. (Me, too) I've never had to be nice to people. I have chosen to be nice to people who are also nice. But when you work in retail telling some nasty woman to FO only gets you fired.
One came in the other day. She wasn't getting her catalog and she nagged and nagged and nagged. We can't do anything in the store but be sure her address is correct.

Anyway, she puffed herself up and said, "Do you know how much I spent when I was in here last year? $700."

I spend that in a month, I told her.
It's true. Or nearly.
Me working in Chico's is like an active alcoholic working in a bar.
I don't think it would be any different if I worked in Stein-Mart or Beall's or Macy's or Dillards.
My name is Judy and I'm a shopaholic.

What to do, what to do?