Monday, October 15, 2007

The Douche Bag Zone

So, I went to my first meeting of the Pink People (think Purple People sans veils and lots more lipstick), and the shorties were so well behaved, I promised them I'd take them out to dinner last Friday. Mr. Finge, never one to forget a promise, reminded me, so we made the sojourn to Red Lobster. After I got my electronic cattle prod (a/k/a pager), I stood outside with the kiddies. I figured, that was a safe spot, in the event they wanted to run around or be loud, outside is as good a place as any. There I stood, minding my own business, when I heard what I thought was a compliment toward my hair. I turned to confirm that I was the subject of the compliment, and prepared to offer thanks if I was. Unfortunately, I was stopped in my tracks by her goat-mouthed companion ("The Douche Bag") who said, smirking, "That's a wig." My mouth lay frozen. She then gave me a look that said, "Yeah, bitch, I said it."

I was taken aback, not so much by the fact that she said my hair was a wig; I could care less, I know I grew it. The vehemence is what threw me. She said it like I went in her douche bag palace, blew her man, and left my wig on her night stand. Now, I know with virtual certainty that her issue had absolutely nothing to do with my hair, and everything to do with the fact that her over-relaxed hair was thinning at the top of her Oompah Loompah mushroom. I'm just not sure how that became my fault.

Despite the fact that I wanted to thank the woman who complimented me, I didn't trust my lips to stop there. Douchie was old enough to be my mother, however, that only takes one so far. She passed me two more times with that same look on her face, without any idea of how close she came to this story ending, ". . . then I hit that cow in the mouth."

There is something in the DNA of women that almost forces us to detract from any compliment sent to anyONE who is not us. "She probably got booty implants." "She got acne though." "Her right titty is bigger than her left titty." Fortunately, I had a mother who instilled in me that blocking the shine of others, only makes you look that much more dull. It can also bring you dangerously close to being on the business end of one of the illest rabbit punches in the Mid-Atlantic.


Amadeo said...

That was some fuckery right there.

Clifton said...

I have never gotten that among the sisters. The only question I have is how did her hair look?

Another Conflict Theorist said...

Yeah, you're right. Pure. Unadulterated. Douchebaggery. It's good you held your tongue, though. People like that live for nothing more than bringing "uppity" black women down to their level.

But, damn. She wasn't still rockin' the mushroom was she? And dry at that? Tsk, tsk.

Breez said...

Think Willie Wonka Oompah Loompah.

I wanted to embrace my inner colored and quote Katt Williams, "don't be mad because you know my shit is luxurious."

But seriously, I'm thinking her issue had little to do with me and/or my hair and more to do with whatever was going on within herself. A LOT of sisters fall prey to it. It's so pervasive that you have to coach yourself not to do it.

When I find too many of my posts, or initial responses caustic, I really check myself to get to the deeper issue of what's going on. Perpetual anger is SO not baller.

BLESSD1 said...

*GASP* You mean that's NOT a wig?! LOL! Just jokes...I don't wanna fall victim to any ill rabbit punches. Glad you were able to reign yourself in :-)