Today I was asked to fight.
Let me remind you that I am a forty-four year old mild-mannered woman who has a steady day job. While I am a quarter Irish, I am not a member of a street gang or in a mid-life fight club. I was just minding my own business, walking to my car, when a young woman came up behind me. I was about to open my car door to get in, when I noticed she wanted to get into the car right next to me so I offered to let her go first.
"No. Go. Get in." She scowled at me and waved her arm at my car. "Go!" She practically shouted.
I raised my eyebrows.
Okaaaay....I said under my breath and got into my car. I closed the door, put down my purse and looked up to see this twenty-something year old blonde sticking her long middle finger as close to my face as she could get without touching the window. Behind her finger she is mouthing the words, "Come on. Get out!" Then she starts beckoning with long exaggerated "come here" gestures to get me out of my car.
Is this really happening?!
She is actually challenging a forty-something-year-old woman to jump out of her small SUV and "throw down" in the parking lot?
I am shocked.
And then I start to chuckle.
I can't help it. This is hilarious!
My laugh makes her friend very angry. Yes, her friend. Her friend is a twenty something year old who is sitting in the same car this girl was about to get in. Now this girl is yelling and gesturing at me from inside the car to get out. I can barely hear what both of them are saying because my window is up, but I can read lips. F Bombs are being dropped left and right and they are egging me on by repeating "Let's go b****!"
If this sets her off, my goodness, how does she get through the day without throwing a punch? I sure hope she is in a high-energy boxing or karate program somewhere where she can work out her anger issues. I backed up my car and drove away, windows up, with both of them still begging me to fight, and smiled.
OK, and I blew a kiss.
Bye ladies. Sorry I don't have time to rumble today. I have somewhere else to be.
I was headed to my favorite thrift shop.
I am an admitted thrift-aholic. I LOVE thrift shops--they are a yard sale I can always find. As someone who is direction-ally challenged, it is nice to be able to find all kinds of used goodies in one spot instead of trying to follow crooked cardboard signs written by eight year-olds in strange neighborhoods.
Once I got to the thrift shop, I head to the bric-a-brac section. (I'm pretty
"You KNOW this song?" Her eyes were as big as saucers.
"Yes, I do." I smiled at her for a moment and then added, "Do you?"
"Yes," she said with a little smile on one side of her mouth. She was wearing boys basketball shorts and a dirty white t-shirt. A total tomboy. She sprinted off somewhere behind me.
"Dad! That lady knows this song!" I heard her yell. I was sure at that moment she was pointing at me; her eyes expanding from saucers to dinner plates.
"Really?" Her dad responded. He didn't sound as impressed as she did.
"Yes! She was SINGING it." I laughed.
Yup, little girl. I'm pretty cool. I'm up on all the hip songs.
Shoot. Did I just use the word 'hip'? I meant dope. Or crunk. Or tight.
Even though my knees hurt from kneeling and the Disney glasses were all dirty, my smile expanded when I thought of how I could have called her back over and whispered:
Hey, guess what?
Her eyes would widen again.
I'm so cool I almost got in a fight today.
Instead I just wondered how I was going to get up.
-Hope A. Horner
Contact the author on hotmail at hopeh1122