Friday, January 26, 2007

Don't Mess with the Glamorous One

I don’t know if I’ve said it before or not, but I come from a long line of “I am woman, hear me roar!” type ladies. My grandma wasn’t above telling my grandpa exactly what he could do with that plate after he was done with it (although she would usually take the plate and put it in the sink for him anyway), and my mom always taught me to be self-reliant. To never rely on a man to do what you can do for yourself. And above all never—ever—allow a guy to disrespect you.

Well, I took all of that to heart, so I wasn’t a bit afraid of standing up to the boys. It probably helped that I was a bit of a tomboy too. My first run in with the boys was in first grade. A group of them decided that they wanted to play a game where they would try and tackle me. I agreed and they proceeded to run up to me. I proceeded to knock every single one of them on their scrawny little butts. When I heard the recess guard’s whistle blow, I knew we were in trouble. Only the boys had all scrambled and I was left standing alone. Bastards. So, I ended up with a dreaded pink slip and had to sit at the “bad” picnic tables for the rest of recess (gasp! The horror! Surely I would die from lack of playing!). Those tables were only reserved for the uber naughty of the school. You know, the ones that don’t get to play for like a whole WEEK. I sobbed and sobbed and knew there would be a call to my mom.

The resulting sentence was that I had to stay after school one time and wash tables in the classroom. That turned my pink slip into a “gold” slip for good behavior. I seethed. I would have rather taken the pink slip because my teacher was hideously evil and I hated her with a fiery passion reserved only for those in the seventh circle of hell.

My second (punishable because I was caught) run in was in seventh grade (I did pretty good, didn’t I? Five years is a long time without getting caught.) and this boy who evidently had a crush on me called me a bitch on our way out of class. This did not bode well. I asked him to repeat himself and when he did, I jumped over the desks and pushed him. So hard that he tripped backwards and crashed into the wall. No big deal except it was one of those collapsible walls that made it so two classrooms could be one big one if necessary. And the teacher next door was still in his room. He came running in (another teacher that I hated) and put two and two together. That time we both got in trouble because he admitted that he had called me names. Ha ha! I thought. That’s what he gets! I didn’t even get detention for that one. But my mom did receive another call home (seriously, I think she should have kept track of how many times she was called for my incessant behavioral issues) and I was prepared for the worst. Turns out she wasn’t that mad at me. She was proud of me for standing up to him, but recommended that next time I use my brains instead of beating him up.

When I got to school the next day, Asshole Boy came up to me. I was prepared for round two, but he had just come up to apologize about the whole thing. Then he showed me the HUGE bruise he had on his side from running into a desk as he fell. It’s horrible now, but I actually laughed. And then he asked me not to say anything to anyone because he didn’t think he’d be able to handle everyone knowing that he got beat up by a girl.

So yeah, don’t mess with me! Lol Just ask CB, he’ll tell you that’s why he was attracted to me in the first place.

2 comments:

Friglet said...

Remind me not to mess with you. ;)

Mr. Fabulous said...

This is why I always stay on your good side!