Insults

There's an art to insulting someone.  Personally, I think calling someone by the wrong name is right up there with any kind of direct slander on one's personality. I heard the latter kind of insult today, and for some reason it made me think of the former.

In college, I was working with a couple of fellas with Down Syndrome that lived in a group home. One of them developed a bit of a crush on me.  It was bound to happen. We had formed a band, sort of. I played harmonica, and the two boys took turns singing lead and playing guitar. They had matching black Stetson hats and real microphones. As for me, I had two new friends that didn't care that I only knew three songs and they weren't country.

Anyway, when you share something as powerful as music, emotions are bound to get stirred up and need a place to land. Since I was the only "lady" in the band, I was naturally a good object for affections. Also, I'm pretty fun to hang out with. I really couldn't blame the fella. (Let's call him Keith.)  During the time I worked with my band friends, I had a pretty serious boyfriend. (Let's call him Rob.)  If you know anything about college girls, you know their favorite topic is their boyfriend. I'm sure I was all- Rob this and Rob that and Rob this some more.

Well, after some time, Keith started taking computer classes. He had gotten pretty good, and learned to type.  I was extremely flattered to receive my first ever, typed love letter. I won't recite the entire letter, but one of the highlights included saying he missed me like a country song. Then came the best part:

"How is Ralf? If he leaves, let' me know and I will touch you."

I don't care what kind of disabilities that kid was born with. He was a genius. I thought of him today as I heard my own sweet girl with another genius insult.

The girls were playing Princess Dress Up. Rylee had on a pair of yellow high heels with a picture of Belle on them. Maggie had her sights set on those fancy shoes. "Gwass Swippers Momma. I wan 'em. Yiwee won gimme my gwass shoos."  I walked away and pretended I didn't hear the whining. It's how I handle conflict.  Two minutes later, I heard the screaming.

Out of Rylee's room comes a very happy Maggie, proudly walking in the Belle shoes. I could almost hear her taunting na na na na boo boo as she sashayed down the hallway. I entered the victim's room to console her and try to head off what could potentially be the start of a cage match.  Red faced and teary eyed, I was given the play by play. She told me between sobs how she took off the shoes to display them on the bed, along with the sparkly dress and wand, when SHE came in and grabbed them.  Then she headed to her doorway and screamed:

"MAGGIE, YOU ARE SO BORING."

I tried to mask my delight that she didn't go for the cheap and easy name calling like "stupid pants" or "poopybutt" but went right for the chin.   I picked up my feisty little Tazmanian and rocked her so that she wouldn't see her insult landed on wax filled ears, prancing around in fancy shoes. And also so she couldn't see my beaming face. To be funny and witty while she's madder than mad...well, that's one I still don't have.