dajamou

Where's the village?

Saturday, April 21, 2007

Another self-misconception down the drain

I used to think that in the face of a threat of physical harm, I would fight back. Regardless of its effectiveness, I would fight. I now believe (I have yet to be threatened thank God) that I would whimper like a kicked puppy.*

I used to think that if I saw an injustice I would stand against it, would speak up, would do something to work to make it right. I now know that I am an ostrich with my head in the sand, and the only stand I have taken against injustice has been a slight frown of silent disapproval. Oh yeah, and I'll come up with rapier-sharp, witty things to say about half an hour later.

I used to think that my custom Tshirt with the phrase "Communist Garden Party" on it was clever and funny, and I would be proud to wear it anywhere. (It's an in joke...don't even try. Or, maybe, do try! I'd love to hear guesses about its origin.) I now know that if I forget that I'm wearing it until I'm at the grocery store, I will spend the whole time pretending to hold my purse strap on my shoulder and cover up the words so some wacko middle-aged war veteran won't corner me in the dairy aisle (cornered in an aisle...there's an odd visual) and lambaste me with my ingratitude for my God-given rights in this great and glorious country. Or something.**





*This has yet to be tested, so perhaps that protective mother instinct would kick in if the threat were to the dajamou. One never knows.

**This didn't actually happen either. I just imagined it happening in the 30 yards between the car and the front door of the store, where I decided to do the false purse-strap-clutching thing.

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