And Then I Was a Crazy Person

There I was, minding my own business, sucking back ice coffee, zooming down the road at a safe yet swift pace, a few hours of sweet alone time ahead of me. The Man on the Radio starts ranting about Barack Obama and more specifically his lack of shall we say -- oh hell, let's just say it -- his lack of balls. I'm used to this tirade from the dude so I carry on. No running of red lights, no swerving, just more of the perfectly sane and anonymous me in my car.

Start ticking through my to-do list. Check my teeth in the rear view mirror. Notice how very blonde I look on a sunny day. Too blonde, I wonder? The Man on the Radio keeps ranting. To emphasize his balls-less opinion of Obama, he calls him a "girl."

Did he just say girl, I thought, turning it up. Did he go there? (Note to future self: turn DOWN the volume on relentless muckrakers.)

He says he looooves woman, but girls? There the whiny, bitching ones on the playground. They're the annoying, clueless, crybabies that well.. are so annoying and clueless and crying. Barack Obama is a girl. A girl! Not a wimp or a loser or a dork or a Democrat. He is a GIRL, the insult of all insults.

And then I became a crazy person. Then I became that insane woman screaming in her car. Then I was that woman waving her hands all around, grabbing for her phone so she could call out this a-hole, dropping her phone, nearly driving off the road trying to find her phone, getting a grip of the wheel and of her civic duty (not to crash) but still, but still... that insane lady you saw on the road? That was very likely me.

In some miracle of auto safety, That Man called just as I was seriously considering embarrassing myself on the radio and/or driving straight into a wall. So I parked instead. And I vented to him. Which was safer and probably wiser, but he was busy and just needed my license plate number (why? had someone phoned me in?) and while he was empathetic, he also really, really had to go. So I sat there in the parking spot all pissed and vinegar and just let the "girl" comment resonate. I listened a little more. I tried to be zen. I sipped my coffee. I grabbed the edge of my sanity and yanked it back in.

And after some thought, this is all I have to say:

Listen mister, I've spent some time on playgrounds and from my perspective, crybabies come with penises too. And as for whining and crying? They don't discriminate based on gender either. And bullies wear pigtails sometimes. A "girl" after all is just a woman who hasn't grown up yet. And with some luck (thanks to all us "girls"), the "boys" won't grow up to be you.