Everyone has their weekend morning ritual. I assume that for most people, it’s sitting down to a steaming mug of coffee in front of them, perhaps reading a newspaper or preparing breakfast for their family. Mine isn’t all that different, except substitute coffee for a butterbeer mug full of coke and change newspaper to a book. Right now I’m re-reading Silence of The Lambs. I am a creature of familiarity if nothing else.
As I sit down in my favorite reading chair, which is an ugly sumbitch to be sure, I am staring into my morning mug of coke on ice and going over the events of last night. Bear and I went to a friend’s house to watch the U/Y rivalry game. The house was full of great people and laughing and everyone had a wonderful time. As the crowd dwindled down to barely more than a handful, the talk turned (sadly) to politics. At first I tried to make small interruptions infused with comedy to break up what was slowly becoming an uncomfortable conversation. My suggestion that the gentleman leading the conversation looked like Edward from Twilight won me a hearty “fuck you” and rightly so, as that really is an awful bit of fiction. I should have gone with Cedric Diggory.
As is almost always the case, Cedric continued to lead the conversation and I was starting to feel attacked, or picked on. He told me I was being ignorant and should read a book before opening my mouth, and he was right. Politics is something I am almost completely ignorant about. But because my macho was being challenged and I could feel my anxiety growing exponentially by the minute, I decided to do something I’m not sure I have ever done before. I stood up for myself. I thought it would feel awesome. How many times have we been confronted and later thought, if I’d only said “this?” I told him he was not fun to talk to, and that he made people feel like asses and that he was a know-it-all. I can’t remember the exact words I used, as they were infused with aggression and anxiety.
Was he a loud mouth and aggressive and even a know-it-all? In my opinion, yes. And I thought for sure it would make me feel good to save the few remaining party goers any further bullying. I said what I said. He got up and left without saying a word. Subsequently I felt like a terrible person. Worse, I felt rude, which is something Hannibal Lecter would never stand for.
Now that I’ve experienced both sides of this conundrum, I think I prefer the “I wish I’d said” approach, as it was easier to forget. As it is, I was the one who became a bully. For the first time in my life. I can assure you that that is something that will take me a bit longer to get over.