Oh So Very Riot Grrrl (and Boy) of Us...

Finally a fun feminist share moment! Whoo hoo!

I walk into a bar in Greenville last night with two friends. We're all wearing black. They have tattoos and scars from whiskey, their BMX bikes, and who knows what else. I stand at the bar with my back to the overweight yuppie beside us who proceeds to interrupt me to alert my friend that "your girlfriend is fucking sexy" as he scans me through his thick glasses from toe to tits. Excuse me? First of all, I ain't nobody's girlfriend. And second of all, he did not just say and do that.

As my friend proceeds to puff up a little, poised to defend me (and really, I'm sure, just itching to punch someone), I think that perhaps I can address this academically: Excuse me, asshole, but I'm actually in the process of getting a four-year degree in feminism. I explain with a straight face that, this guy next to me is actually my ex-husband. We're madly in love but had to get divorced because I don't believe in the institution of marriage. So I would really appreciate it if you'd take your overprivileged yuppie entitlement and fuck off. It doesn't work. I tried. I did. He actually then has the audacity to explain to us that our appearances are obvious indicators of our class statuses and insignificance and that he pretty much has the right to a) say anything he wants, b) do anything he wants, and c) have anything that he wants.

Really? That so?

He wasn't singin' such a pretty tune when we resorted to the next logical step, which was to dump a full bottle of beer over his head. Kicking and screaming about just how fucked up it was because he can a) say anything he wants, b) do anything he wants, and c) have anything that he wants, he was escorted from the bar as we and all of our peon friends fell to the floor with laughter. Him and his starched, beer-soaked shirt could just take it back to the wife in his pretty little box in his pretty little development.

I was proud.

--Andrea