February 1st, 2012
“Wednesday Epiphany: She Deserved to be Judged!”
I went shoe shopping with my friend code-name Tango 5-6. She wanted a pair of 200$ Mephistos.
“Do you think that’s too much money for a walking shoe?” she asked.
“No hey, you’ve got to be comfortable when you walk.”
So she bought them.
Then I was having lunch at our friend code-name The Baker’s house and I told The Baker about Tango’s outrageously expensive shoe purchase. We cackled and got all judgey.
Two days later Tango was working me out in her home gym when she mentioned The Baker had mentioned her “outrageously expensive” walking shoes which I must’ve told her about. Shit. Tango added 20 lbs to my bench-press. Ack. Ack.
“You were judging me!” she exclaimed.
“Okay, I was judging you! Let me up! Let. Me. Up!”
She added another twenty.
“It’s just. 200$ is a lot. for a really ugly shoe!”
“The Baker told me you went back and bought yourself the same exact pair of Mephistos.”
“Damn that Baker, she spends too much time gossiping, not to mention baking, is she trying to make us all fat? Why doesn’t she get a life?!” (My lungs collapsed)
So my question is…how many times do you judge another woman in a day? Once. Twice. A bazillion? I judge you if:
You’re too nice to your kids (doormat). Too mean to your kids (Mommy Dearest). You go to church every Sunday (religion is the opiate of the masses!). You send your kid to private school when there’s a perfectly good public school in the hood (entitled WASP, JAP, PERSIAN, MICK, what-have-you). You carry designer handbags (send the money to Haiti). You don’t let your kids have dessert (hemp-wearing, supplement-taking, recycling, repurposing, privileged, liberal, holistic, born-again-smug-virgins!). You eat only raw foods (see previous). The list goes on.
You judge me because:
I let my kids watch Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (child psychological scar-er). I explained sex to my kids when they were in the 1st grade (they’ll be wild teenagers). I let my kids have dessert everyday, sometimes twice (obesity-promotor, tooth-rotter,vicarious-liver-througher). I don’t take my kids to church (juvenile-delinquency-proponent). I sometimes let them have a cursing free-pass (F-bomb-allower).
I don’t mean to judge you. You don’t mean to judge me. Unless you’re Mother Teresa or on Magic Mushrooms this is just human nature. So Tango and I have decided that every time we internally judge one another we’re going to cry out “Judging!” after.
Sunday we took our kids to the beach:
Me: “Let’s bicycle up the strand.”
Tango: “We don’t have bicycles.”
Me, internal judgement: (You lazy ass! How can you live in Southern California and not have bikes? You’re ruining the fun!)
Tango and the girls wanted to go down to the water instead of flying a kite.
Me: “It’s too cold.”
Tango, internal judgement: (You’re such a pussy! You’re ruining the fun!)
Tango didn’t want to buy her daughter a corn dog.
Me, internal judgement: (You and your f%#king anal-retentive, perfectionistic, let-me-make-you-a-green-smoothie food religion.)
Tango, internal judgement: (Of course you’re judging because you’re a slatternly, sugar addict that’d sell her kids down-river for a whoopie pie.)
Then it was pretty much. “Judging!” “Judging!” “Judging!” “Judging!” Our mouths got tired of making the affricative “J” sound. (Okay. I googled that).
The funny thing is, after Tango and her kid Tangette left and my girls and I rode off on our resentfully delayed bike trip up the strand I felt kind of lonely for our friends and wistful about how much fun we had with them.
Me, internal judgement: (Man, I love that bitch!)
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