A random post about my sanctimonious daughter, a 6-foot-20-inch he-man, and pageant moms.
I’m going out of town skiing today and we only decided to go last night (as usual) so my plan to write a Really Funny Post is postponed in favor of Really Funny Real Life wherein I will careen screaming down the side of a mountain and plow into a group of innocent skiiers, embarrassing my children. But because I am A Total Yeah Write Addict, I’m going to link up today – although I have no idea what I’m going to write.
Actually, I do: I’m going to write about random things. I haven’t got a plan, and there is no theme – art imitating my life.
Random Thing #1: My Sanctimonious Daughter
Fi, my 10-year-old, asked me to promise not to link up to Yeah Write this week “so that you can stop hogging the top 5 and give another person a chance to shine,” (her words, not mine).
Can you believe it?
Fi is a Libra and a Very Nice Person who always has Fairness at the top of her agenda, and apparently she can’t stand me on Thursdays – voting day – because I can’t get over the fact that we can no longer vote for ourselves and I grumble about how unfair it is. She also seems to be particularly revolted by my excitement at finding out who is on the latest leader boards…
I told her I didn’t think I could stay away from my Yeah Write homies but that my post this week isn’t going to be very good and will probably be in the bottom 5 anyway.
This seemed to satisfy her.
Random Thing #2: The 6-Foot-20-Inch He-Man
Yesterday I was at a mall watching Ella play on the indoor play structure, and this big six-foot-twenty-inch he-man dressed in camouflage and boots got my attention because he shouted at his five-year-old son. He had four sons under the age of 8 also wearing camo, and matching buzz-cuts.
He shouted, “Don’t you kick him!”
He was only a few feet away from me so I gave him my best Stink-Eye (which is pretty dern effective, let me tell you – I perfected it in grade school).
You know what he did then? He faux-kicked his five-year-old. It wasn’t a “real” kick, not a kick that would hurt (well, not physically), but it was a kick from a six-foot-twenty-inch he-man, and it was despicable.
He shouted, “HOW DO YOU THINK THAT FEELS?!”
I stood then, outraged. I was saying, “That man just kicked his son!” to the moms around me, hoping to start a riot or something but the other moms were ignoring the situation. What was I going to do, beat him up? I looked right at him and shook my head, and that’s when he noticed that my really effective Stink Eye was upon him.
Him: “What’s your problem?”
Me: “Are you kidding?”
I should have said something better. Something like, “You’re my problem because that’s abusive and you’re modeling abusive behavior to these four boys, who will probably grow up to beat their wives and kick people! WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘HOW DO YOU THINK THAT FEELS?’ YOU’RE THE ONE WHO TAUGHT HIM HOW TO KICK LIKE THAT, NEANDERTHAL!”
But all I could think of to say was, Are you kidding?
At least it was something.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said, herding his sons out of the mall.
Ella probably knew that I was all riled-up and that I was no match for the he-man. She pulled me by my hand and I sat down and repeated, “That man just kicked. his. son.”
Ella: “Don’t give him any attention. He’s just a bully.”
The moms were mute, probably telling themselves that nothing technically happened and it was none of their business and what kind of a crackpot nosey mom was I to stand up like that and give that man the Stink Eye anyway?
It really does take a village to look the other way while a child is being bullied.
I was shaking, because ironically, what I wanted to do to him involved violence.
Random Thing #3: I Am Not A Pageant Mom
Last night I had a nightmare that I had to dress up in Fi’s Irish dance competition dress, her Shirley Temple wig, poodle socks and hard shoes, and dance a treble jig for a panel of judges.
I blame Anderson Cooper for the nightmare. Several days ago he invited the
ignorant narcissistic pageant moms from Toddlers and Tiaras to wear the same lil’ hooker get-ups they make their kids wear, and then walk out on the stage. Then Pigtail Pals/Redefining Girly posted it on their Facebook page and I saw this video.
As I was ranting on Facebook about “those” pageant moms a little voice reminded me that I may not be a pageant mom but I am one of “those” Irish Dance moms. Irish Dance moms are not pageant moms – yet – but to some people we are only steps behind the Pageant Moms. The dresses are getting shorter. The wigs are getting bigger. Some kids are wearing makeup. The poodle socks now come with optional glitter.
After I woke up from my nightmare, I was going wake Fi and ask her if Irish dancing is what she really wants – but then I remembered that she’s the one who dragged me – kicking and screaming – into this whole Irish Dance Mom scene. So we’re good.
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