The Moment I Turned Into Myself

Life is a series of memories that have, in one way or another, impacted one or more individuals to act in a specific manner from that point on.

I dislike preppy, clique-y girls. I tend to dress in any way I want, without regard to how others might see me. If someone has something to say, I'd prefer it to be said to my face and not behind my back. I like to speak my mind. I don't like going to buy wings from the Wing Stop by my house anymore. I have a deep-seeded hatred for gossip. All of these qualities in myself can be traced back to one specific moment in my life; one memory impacted me in such a manner that all of these things are a part of me now.

It was probably about 9th grade. My dad and I were going to go golfing, because golf is a gentleman's sport,  and we're real sirs. Because of the rules of the course, you have to wear pants or shorts with a tucked in polo, which is exactly what I was wearing. We decided to stop somewhere to get some food before we went out to the course, and I suggested wings, because we had never been there, and also because wings are delicious. So we get there, order some food, and sit down, waiting for our food to get to our table.

At this point, I notice that the only other people in the store was a group of three teenage girls. I remember  the two that were facing me kept giving me glances and all three of them were talking in a hushed manner, and of course, giggling about in their cheeky way. I got up to get a drink, and out of the corner of my eye I could see one of them looking at me and saying "what a fashion faux pas."


Now, first of all, nobody has even said "faux pas" since 1973, so I really don't understand why she felt it was an appropriate way to describe the fact that I was wearing jeans and a polo. Secondly, I was wearing jeans and a polo. People wear that all the time. I could have said the same thing about you and your Uggs and daisy dukes. That's the stupidest thing since Croc's, and Croc's are really stupid. My 1990 Camry is more stylish than you.

I didn't say anything. I didn't look at them, or even acknowledge their existence. I just sat there and quietly writhed around in my hatred for them. I've sat and thought about what I should have said to them. (The best so far is "you ugly anyways," but it's still open for discussion.) And even though I'd love to just reduce them to ruin, I think I'd probably just sit there like I did before and know in good confidence that they'll have at least one kid by 18 and be living off food stamps for the rest of their adult lives.

I don't like you, preppy, clique-y girls, with your secrecy and gossip. I will dress however I want, and I really don't care what you think, because I'm way above you.

So there you have it.