I have found in my life that a) some people are just stupid and b) hatred usually comes from something we don’t understand. Oh, and c) men never really learn to wipe their own butts.
I dated a guy in college. He approached me at a club, teasing me for dancing in overalls. (side note: there was about a four-year period in my life in which I believed whole-heartedly that overalls were appropriate for every occasion. This was prior to my discovery that pajamas are also appropriate for every occasion – and they don’t drag on the floor when you drop your pants to pee).
Yes. I was (and still am) a finely tuned hot chick, what can I say? I actually went to clubs to DANCE, not to meet boys! Weird. Soon, no matter how hard my overalls tried, we started dating. He worked at a gas station. I don’t recall him having any other goals. He had a serious hang-up about riding the bus – thinking that it would make him look poor or like “white trash” or something. Okaayyy. The gas station job won’t though. Public transportation… baaaaadddd; minimum wage….. good?
One day we were chatting, prior to his departure with his cousin to visit his family in Nebraska. He admitted to me his fear of traveling overnight, because his cousin was gay. I guess that he had incest and homosexuality confused? Is it technically incest if it’s your first cousin? I don’t know. I’m not an expert on incest. What I do know is that I laughed and laughed, and maybe even peed a little. I thought to myself, “Gee. This poor gay cousin of his has to go to Nebraska? Now THAT’s scary!”
I told him that if he dozed off in the car, the chances of waking to a close encounter of the cousin-kind were pretty damn unlikely. That poor, stupid boyfriend of mine seemed to think that being gay meant being uncontrollably attracted to anything with a penis, especially while driving a car across Nebraska in the middle of the night. Interesting. I schooled him, the best I could. Coming from a bubble head to a boy with only 3 functioning brain cells, it may not have been effective.
The next time he proved his lack of cerebral functioning to me was when he mentioned his all-knowing-uncle, who lived in the mountains of Colorado. In Colorado, if you wander away from ski resorts and popular hiking trails, you will quickly learn that there are people in the mountains who have never left. Their ancestors never left. It’s a mystery how they even got there. They play banjos and cut their toe nails with shanks. It’s like Deliverance Country, with far less oxygen.
“Did you know that slavery was really not that bad?” He asked me, out of the clear blue sky.
“How do you figure that?” I asked, trying to hide my horror. He proceeded to tell me that his uncle, who was a not only a man of the woods, but a militia man, informed him that slavery was a choice.
You may be wondering why I would date such a human? Well, have you seen Zombieland? Woody Harrelson? Still looking good to me. He looked like Woody. That is really the only reason. Shallow girl that I am.
I asked him why people would actually choose to be slaves. He said, they were offered jobs in America, rescuing them from the terribly (free) lives that they had been suffering in Africa. I’m guessing he is now a firm believer in the school of “the holocaust never happened.” I mean, the sheer lack of intelligence was fascinating to me. It was amazing. I told him that no person would choose to give up their children, leave their families, and move to a strange place to be beaten and treated as less than human. Well, maybe a militia man… He pondered it (or maybe he was just pondering his pant size), and said that I could be right. Really? Guess which one of us works at a gas station, dude.
Fortunately for me, the next guy I dated had a brain. Well, he still has most of it (other than the parts that I seem to be shrinking with my woman powered ray gun). He’s my husband. He does not look like Woody…but I think in the grand scheme of things, that’s okay. Better to look like himself and have more than three functioning brain cells… and believe that slavery DID happen… and believe that the holocaust DID happen… and believe that not all gay men want to jump his bones.
My bubble is an airy place, I admit it. BUT, it’s not a stupid place. I don’t hate much. The things I hate are simple: I hate political commercials. I hate colds. I hate having to do number two in a public bathroom. I hate mosquitos and flies, especially when I’m doing number two in a public bathroom. But most of all, I hate stupidity. Don’t be stupid. It is harder to make a shiny pink bubble when you are thick.