Yup.
Yes.
Yup.
Yes.
Yup…
Ok. I’ve had enough. Go to the office Mr. Dalling.
Apparently Ms. Cupofsoup didn’t like how I spoke.
She was trying to correct my speech but thought I was mocking her.
Why dear reader, were so many of the women who were ‘Ms.’ when I was a young boy so suspicious that my actions were mockery?
I didn’t pick up on her subtle hints that I was speaking ‘incorrectly’
But I’ll always remember that moment.
There were so many moments like this growing up with well dressed lady teachers trying to hit me with subtle discipline while I was completely oblivious to their attempts.
It’s odd eh? All of these ‘Ms.’ ladies were passive aggressive, vicious, intolerable yeasty old gashes of humanity?
I ran into another much like Ms. Cupofsoup. It was at a park in Halifax
No dear, they’re a garden.
Garden?
Park?
Who gives a fuck?
Well dear reader, there are those who dominate by correcting speech.
And this lady?
This expensive looking clothes wearing lady?
She was the kind of twat who gets status through correction.
Given that I had offended her by calling the ‘garden’ a ‘park’, I continued to misgender her shrubbery.
This garden is a great park!
I gushed enthusiastically.
No dear this is a garden, not a park.
I didn’t leave it alone nor did I comply.
Park? Garden? Same shit different bucket.
She turned four shades of red.
You look angry
(I was trying to be helpful)
But if you get that mad when someone uses the wrong word to label your little ‘park’ here, I’d be super worried what would happen if you had an actual problem.
She sputtered something about proper terminology and ‘correctness’.
I smiled. Thanked her and farted loudly.
Very loudly.
Then?
I told her to stop and smell my dusty roses.
And with that?
I turned on my heal to go enjoy her little park.
