It's not like I gave her sprinkles.

At Woody's earlier tonight, while enjoying some soft serve with Walt and my trusty Bagel, I was confronted by a woman waiting in line for her own ice cream.

"You know most dogs are lactose intolerant, right?" This was not offered out of the kindness of her heart or stemming from a general concern for the lactic tolerance of our four-legged friends. She was just taking a shit on the best part of my day. I didn't quite know what to say to her and at the time could only manage, 

"She's fine, thanks." With the same fake smile she used to impart to veterinary wisdom. Later on, in the car I thought of better, pithier things to say:

" If that bother you, you should see my cat down scotch."

" Yes, but she needs something to take the edge off all those martinis she lapped up earlier."

" Well the ice cream offsets the gin."

" You're a miserable cunt who should not be eating ice cream but instead actively adjusting the size of your ass. Stop shitting on my life." 

...Perhaps that last one was unnecessary.  But it would have felt nice.