At two in the morning last night, I went out to get some food at the gas station. On the first of the month, supposedly at midnight but usually later, DSHS puts money into an account with my name on it. And my household was entirely out of food yesterday. Including oatmeal. It's pretty sad when you're out of oatmeal. Oatmeal lasts for-freaking-ever. So, at two in the morning, I went out for gas station food.
As I left home, I got the eerie feeling that something was wrong. I should have brought my discman, I thought. I debated going back for it. But I decided against it. It was dark, it was late, and there wasn't a soul around. I suddenly didn't feel all that safe. I especially didn't feel safe with the idea of headphones over my ears.
Now, I've said it before, but not in a long time, so I'll say it again... It infuriates me when I go out at night and don't feel safe. So I'm kind of small, and female, and probably a prime target to get dragged into an alley and mugged and raped or something... But what the fuck? I refused, years ago, to heed those old warnings my mom gave me about only walking at night with a friend, or carrying a bottle of hairspray, or staying home after dark... Not a freaking chance. I'd actually prefer being mugged and raped to spending my entire life fearful of being mugged and raped. Knock wood, I'd still rather NOT be mugged and raped by any stretch of the imagination, but to spend my nights indoors for the rest of my life? No, no, a thousand times no.
Now, I don't know much about self-defense, and I can just barely hold a gallon of milk out parallel to my shoulders, but I've got a few other tricks up my sleeve, I think. When it comes down to it, I'm pretty sure I could manage to fight somebody off if I really needed to. If I have to, I fight dirty, and I fight like a crazy woman. I mean, if I have to. I've never REALLY had to. Mostly because I've scared people away with a rather frightening vocabulary, a decently-sized larynx, and a fairly bitchy attitude before they could decide they wanted to really fuck with me.
So, I generally have no fear.
I owe it to myself -- and certainly I owe it to my daughter -- to have no fear.
So I was PISSED last night when I was inexplicably nervous.
I went to the gas station anyway, against the judgment of my intuition.
I mean, shit, I was HUNGRY. All I'd eaten all day was a piece of chicken the size of my thumb, and a couple spoonfuls of frosting. That's not food. Gas station food is more substantial than that.
This older dude walked into the gas station, greeted the clerk behind the counter, and promptly walked up to me, where I was checking out the potato chips. The potato chip aisle isn't a hundred percent visible from the front counter. And the dude lays a hand on my shoulder and starts telling me which kinds of chips he likes best.
I pulled away rather viciously and tried to walk away. I'm sorry, but that's SO fucking inappropriate. First of all, this is NOT a culture where people just randomly touch each other. Second of all, this is sure as hell not a culture where you walk up behind a hugely pregnant woman in the middle of the night, and grab her shoulder.
Dude followed me around the store for a minute, continuing to make his pass at me, I suppose. Eventually, he gave up and walked up to the counter, bitched to the clerk about how women were such bitches to him, and then stood over by the soda machines watching me until I had paid and left.
If I weren't hugely pregnant, I probably would have made a mad dash for home. For being as enormous as I am, I managed a pretty good gallop. You ever see an orca gallop? They have a show at SeaWorld with something like that. Imagine Shamu shimmying down a wet sidewalk in Western Washington with a bag of junk food.
I don't know if dude followed me at all, but I was freaked. And the fact that I was freaked pissed me off to the point where, if I'd seen him following me, I probably would have confronted him and kicked him in the balls. I find that a slightly more attractive option, personally, than informing the man that my husband, a professional sharpshooter, was expecting me home in five minutes, which HAD crossed my mind... Assholes tend to be more respectful of the idea of a ferocious, armed husband than they tend to be of a pissed off woman with very hard kneecaps. Assholes also tend to be slightly more afraid of medium-sized dogs than of pissed off women. If I had the opportunity, I would do my very best to change that opinion in many, many assholes.
I cut through a couple of shortcuts -- back alleys, that sort of thing. I didn't see the man. I went home and cooked my can of ravioli.
What's up with hitting on some girl who's not only young enough to be your daughter -- maybe, in extreme cases, your granddaughter -- but also eight months' pregnant? What? Dude thought maybe I was easy because I'm knocked up?
Now, I think it's kind of sweet when people are borderline-flirty with me. Like when I go to the grocery store and the guy behind the counter recognizes me and strikes up some dumb small-talk. That's nice. Or the other day when some guy was teasing my room-mate and I as we weighed her enormous coat in one of the banana-scales in the store. Much of the time, I'm uncomfortable and I feel distinctly unattractive. I mean, it's hard to feel pretty when you're getting kicked in the bladder, your skin is a wreck, your legs mysteriously ache, and you feel like you've got a Shamu-like frame. Friendly smiles and stuff are really nice. It makes me feel like I'm not actually some sort of hideous monster, despite the discomfort.
But this dude in the gas station last night? That wasn't friendly, or sweet, or cute, or any of those things. That dude was an asshole.
I HATE assholes.
I really am VERY pregnant by now. It feels strange. I can actually feel little changes in my body sometimes, preparing for childbirth and motherhood. Mostly, the weird changes just take the form of hormone bursts; I'll feel tired and fussy and nauseous for a day or two sometimes and be perfectly fine the next day. There are other things, too. Stretchings and pullings and pokings and swellings. Most of it is fairly uncomfortable, but it sort of makes me feel a little better. I don't have any real idea how to be a mother, having never really done it before. It comforts me to know that at least some things actually do come naturally. If I don't consciously know what to do, at least my body knows, at least about some things.
It's very nice.
I have to go out and buy some things this evening -- a money order for rent, conditioner so that I don't get white-girl dreadlocks (sorry, Olympia), toilet paper so that we don't end up using the phone book, coffee filters so that my household doesn't perish in a manner that I fear might strongly resemble the symptoms of rabies... Maybe... to celebrate that I've lived another month in relative comfort, I'll get myself a cheeseburger and some french fries.
Once again, there is no extra money this month. And in December, too, dammit. I've got no way to get anybody anything for Christmas, probably not even cards unless I make them myself out of recycled (read: taken out of dumpsters) materials... I'm seriously contemplating standing at an intersection with a cardboard sign. I think it will say: "Paid my rent, got some food, spare change please for conditioner so I don't get white-girl dreads."
Or something equally absurd.
(FYI, I think white-girl dreads are really cute on some white girls. I do not think they would be cute on me. At all.)
I'm going to go get conditioner now...
Love,