I rarely get into fist fights.
I NEVER get into fist fights.
I mean, this face is a little too awesome to risk getting it punched or scratched or (ewww!) bloodied! And, because I talk trash like a mofo, people are pretty much just scared of me anyway.
No one will step to Dumb Mom. Because even though I’m not an actual gangster, I often come across as one.
My swagger is as obvious as it is official.
And, it scares people enough to get them to leave me alone.
Plus I have crazy eyes.
Totally use them when someone tries to jump all bad on me.
C-R-A-Z-Y (don’t say anything about my not looking What-NOT-to-Wear-alicious, I’m desperately ill today. Desperately.)!
And, it’s not just the crazy-eyed-trash-talking-Dumb-Mom you see on the blog today who scares people straight.
It’s been this way for always.
Even when I was a pigtailed, sweet heart in grade school (which I absolutely was).
Even back then though, people couldn’t see me (that’s gangster for they were scared).
Something about being the quiet kid in class with the angelic face that makes people suspicious of you.
Can’t know what you’re thinking and all.
Plus, once, this way less cool than me girl tried to front on me over four-square (fronting is pretty much the same thing as trying to bully me into submission).
She was out.
But, she had something to prove (that she was cooler than me, which was SO not the case. I didn’t talk much, be she talked too much, and people didn’t like that.).
Point is, she argued with the official Four Square ruling that states, “if the ball bounces outside of player’s own square, player is out” (or something official sounding like that) .
And with me. Well not exactly with me really (because I just gave her “The Eye” which was in development at the time), but with herself.
Telling me she was, “not about to get out da box, ‘cause ain’t no way dat ball was out” (insert rolling neck, rolling eyes, and crossed arms for affect). She threw in a number of other badly formed sentences in direct violation of the English language, I’m assuming also for affect.
I blinked (the nerve).
I blinked again (the NERVE).
I scoped out the spot (aka took a look around to see if any teachers were within viewing distance; I had a reputation to uphold).
And then, with swift vengeance in my eyes, I stepped to her and shoved her, hard and fast, straight out of the box and onto the ground.
She slid a little on the sandy gravel. Her ill fitting skort was dirtied.
Possibly she skinned a thigh?
Regardless, it hurt.
Her body and her pride.
I could see it in her eyes.
And, instead of engaging her in a long winded battle of words that she could not possibly win, I dismissed her with one sentence, and one sentence only, heard by the entire playground that had fallen eerily silent for this altercation, “You’re out now, aren’t you?”
I turned and went directly back to my game, while she picked her dusty self off the pavement and ran inside, or somewhere, I didn’t watch and see.
Moral of the story?
Don’t try to play me out (an early 90s rap reference just seemed appropriate).
Something that entire school needed to learn about quiet, teacher’s pet, Amanda.
I mean, just because I wasn’t talking much didn’t mean I wasn’t listening.
And, just because I wasn’t giving them snappy comebacks with head and neck rolls to match, didn’t mean I didn’t write some seriously scathing ones in my diary at night (I called is a journal, because diaries were dumb).
And, just because it was my mantra to never let them see me cry, didn’t mean the day the entire bus load of kids chanted Amanda-Kreuger-Amanda-Kreuger, the entire ride home, didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like a mofo.
Because it did.
Nobody wants to be responsible for the psychopathic Hell-spawn that was Freddy Kreuger (honestly, I don’t know how they even discovered that Freddy’s mama was named Amanda, it was well before the Internet came out).
And, more importantly, no one wants to be punked in the Four Square box on the playground.
Believe me when I say, it never happened again.
And, with the perfection of “The Eye” I doubt it ever will.
Four Square anyone?
*Thanks Mama Kat for another inspirational Writer’s Workshop prompt. It made me really analyze my gangstaness and I appreciate that. I feel pretty badass right now!