ATTENTION: I am in no way casting aspersions on every person I went to school with. As a matter of fact, I went to school with some truly outstanding folks who I am proud to be friends with to this very day. The bad apples...well...they’re a different story.
I hate ‘em. I hate ‘em with a passion and what bugs me to death is that the South can be particularly bad when it comes to having set ideas as to what men and women should or shouldn’t do. I admit that I’m human and therefore guilty of the occasional book judged by its cover, but I make every effort to avoid snap judgments. Why? I’m well bred. Also, because I’m a frequent victim of assumption, so I make a hellacious effort to refrain from “doing unto others.”
First Dumbass Assumption: I am a snob.
Am not! This particular assumption has been dogging me since preschool. I am an introvert—a major, textbook, five-star introvert. I look forward to social settings with the anticipation one might have for a pending root canal.
In addition to the fact that shyness is firmly entrenched in every strand of my DNA, some of the things I witnessed during my school days cemented my cerebral urge to fly under the radar. Kindergarten: A charming schoolmate checked the tags on the clothing of her contemporaries in order to ensure that they were appropriately fashionable and therefore worthy of her friendship.
All the way up through graduation (and even Sunday School), I saw other children get spit on, have dirt kicked on them and rocks thrown at them among countless other humiliations. I heard children get called names that children shouldn’t even know. I also got the pleasure of experiencing firsthand what happened to those who took up for others: I got spit on, called ugly and stupid and other unmentionable things.
Just kids being kids, right? Hell no. I constantly teach my Baby Belles that everyone is worthy of respect and kindness and, if I ever catch them acting like the poorly bred folks I had the misfortune of attending school with, they won’t be able to sit down comfortably for the foreseeable future.
After witnessing all of that ridiculous fun, I decided that I needed to keep my head down and charge forward toward graduation and getting the hell out. Because I can’t win for losing, my aforementioned long term evacuation plan caused people to think that I was a snob.
Want to hear the really funny part? I married the extrovertiest extrovert you will ever meet. Go figure.
Second Dumbass Assumption: I am a priss.
Puh-leeze. You have to understand that I have two daughters and I would go completely insane if I couldn’t tolerate frills, sparkles and other fluffy whatnot. I also admit that I am attracted to the heretofore designated female favorites of shoes and other miscellaneous shopping adventures—however, I’m going to include you in on a little secret: I don’t like pink.
Of course, I suppose you can say that almost every gal has liked pink at some point in their lives and that’s perfectly fine—unless one has to live with a decision made during the era of pink love. I don’t recall what I age I was, but my mother won a bid for a room makeover and she very selflessly decided to redo my room (which I appreciate). At the time, I was in my DNA-triggered pink phase, so all of the wallpaper and paint and everything else had to be pink. Pink! Pink! Pink!
The wallpaper was white with pink flowers and blue ribbons. The trim was a not-so-fetching cotton candy colored pink. I remember the painter (a big bearded fellow) commenting with derision as to how “pink” the pink was. I absolutely loved it at the time, but I eventually grew out of my “Pink Phase” and entered to the “Everything Should be Black Phase” (think Winona Ryder in Beetlejuice).
Much to the delight of my parents, I also moved on from the Black Phase but—regardless of where I was at the time in my color preferences—the bright Easter Bunny pink in my room mocked me. LOUDLY. The wallpaper and paint remain in my old room to this very day and it is my Baby Belles’ favorite room in their Papa and Bon Bon’s house. That doesn’t surprise me in the least.
Third Dumbass Assumption: I only go for the highbrow entertainment.
It never fails. I will be in a conversation with someone and mention something that I recently did or saw and the person I am speaking with raises their eyebrows in surprise and says, "Really? I didn't think you would like that."
I'm always completely at sea as to whether I should be flattered or offended.
I like science fiction. I grew up on Star Wars and I definitely prefer Episodes IV, V and VI. I wish I could credit the guy who hit the nail on the head when he said, "George Lucas couldn't have gone back in time to steal my prom date and break my heart more than he did by making Episodes I, II and III," but I never did get his name.
When it comes to TV, I like Star Trek and I prefer the Second Generation. I love Dr. Who, but I am a diehard David Tennant fan and I am boycotting all episodes subsequent to his departure. You would furthermore be hard pressed to find a fan more tickled pink than when they came out with the V remake--although I'm holding my decision in the hope that I will be able to get more into it. It's just not ringing my chimes right now.
I also love those crappy Syfy movies like Megashark v. Megaoctopus and King Cobra, etc. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen Debbie Gibson and Lorenzo Lamas take on mutant sea creatures.
Fourth Dumbass Assumption: I am a bitch.
Actually, that’s not so dumbass. I’ll give you that one.