Saturday, April 18, 2009

So much glaring

I had an encounter.
An experience.
I witnessed a tragedy.
Freshmen softball players who scratch themselves like they're men.
Talking like valley girls about Under Armor and do the Arsenio Hall whoop when they get excited...or turned on. Probably. I don't know.
They're a rare breed. An untapped people group that needs further study. Like the crap that lives at the bottom of the ocean...or the elderly.
I was sitting there, staring...no...glaring...because I couldn't understand it. You know, I hate stereotypes. I do. I hate them. But it's sorta painful when the stereotype slaps you in the face.
So I sit there and glare. Upset.
Upset because of the scratching. Upset because of the whooping. Upset because of the over-sized, white rimmed glasses that didn't fit on their faces. Upset because of the rough man-claps that happened when they got their food. But most of all, because of the whooping. And the scratching. Yeah. Mostly the scratching.

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