Middle chicken is in law school in DC.
For the uninitiated, my children are called chickens. They became chickens many years ago when I turned around to see them following behind me, single file. That day, walking across the grocery store parking lot they became chickens and have remained so ever since. Generally I try to protect their identities as it can be embarrassing for children to learn their mother drinks while they are at school and does research on vibrators. Just as my dead husband became The Norwegian after I wrote a newspaper (remember those?) column alluding to his identity. He asked to please be unrecognizable in anything I wrote. It is cultural suicide as a Norwegian to call attention to oneself so he became The Norwegian.
Up to speed? Good, because as they say in the movies, it’s going to be a bumpy ride. Someone picked on my daughter.
Middle chicken is in law school in our nation’s capitol. She is surrounded by history, great museums, the business of our country, politics and evidently some nasty ass girls. Some background on middle chicken: Brilliant, yes. Beautiful, yes. Talented, yes. Kind and generous, yes in far greater measure than her mother. Stand up for herself–hmm, not so much.
On her first day of school, first class, she asked the girl next to her to which book the professor was referring. The girl remarked, after the up-and-down appraisal those of us without penises know all too well, “If you had read the assigned reading you would know.” Me, being me, would have said, “Bite me bitch,” and carried on. Middle chicken felt horrible and desperately wanted to explain that she simply had not heard but instead suffered the blow this girl felt a need to wield. She was slightly bruised but we laughed about it later. And by the way, snarky bitch, middle chicken always does the reading assignment. That’s part of the reason she there, in the same class as you.
Next day, she asks a group if she can sit with them in the library. Another lovely law school offering puts her books on the empty chair and says there is no room. This is the same girl who, earlier in the day gave the class a full view of her purple granny panties sans elastic. Tip girlfriend: If you sit in the front row of stadium seating and you lean forward, everyone can see your panties. Tip two: Get rid of that business immediately. Someday you may want to procreate.
I asked Middle Chicken to describe the offender. “Oh you know…” Middle chicken won’t say it but I will. She’s the girl, and we all know one, whose idea of personal grooming is armpit hair braiding. And that girl would have been my guess. That girl is always the girl whose mission it is to make other girls feel bad. It’s one of her self-assigned charges in life like wearing ill fitting clothes with no bra, refusing to pluck her unibrow, bathing only occasionally and knowing without a doubt it is her responsibility to tell others how to live.
She looks down her nose that you eat meat but she smokes cigarettes and gets high to make sure her body is healthy. She saves the environment by driving a forty thousand dollar Prius purchased through Daddy’s hard work and believes that her right to not wear deodorant trumps your right to breathe.
When, oh when my friends are we going to stop beating the crap out of each other. It is no more right to pick on a pretty girl than a less pretty one. Besides it’s not a real thing. Remember the eye of the beholder? It is no more right to pick on the rich than the poor. Although picking on the rich is just plain fun. It is no more right to pick on the smart than the less intelligent. We all have our gifts. We all have our greatness. When will it stop?
Evidently not right now. Pick on my kid and I’ve got something to say.
I have some motherly reminders for smelly boho girl. My daughter got into the same school you did. It’s not a fluke. They don’t do that in law school, unless your dad is the president or your mom is a movie star. She studied just as hard as you did. She took the same LSAT and her score is the same, or probably higher than yours. And, she will be one of your partners in school for the next three years. Do you really want this behavior to be your legacy doll?
There are some things you don’t know about my child so I would suggest removal of your judgy pants while you read the list. I have no doubt your LSAT scores are close or that hers is even higher than yours. She took her LSAT one month after her beloved father suddenly dropped dead. And you? She has a double major and a double minor; BioChemistry and Political Science with minors in Math and International Relations. What did you say your major was dear? She was also president of her sorority, taught science to underprivileged children, was named one of the amazing young women of her university and worked on a political campaign. Did you do any whale saving in addition to your obvious extracurricular of picking on other girls you know nothing about?
So, you go ahead, keep picking on the pretty smart girls. It’s working so well for you. I can tell by your vast circle of friends. But I will offer you a piece of advice dear. There is nothing on earth, and I mean nothing, more powerful than a pretty smart girl. There will come a time in the next three years you will rue the day you ousted her from your study group. You will wish you could could add that brain power to your cause. Unfortunately for you, your vile insides will still be screaming so loudly, no one will be able to hear what you say. And that, my dear, not what you look like, is what makes you ugly.
You will come up against pretty smart girls the rest of your life. Hopefully one will be your boss. And as you watch her amazing skills, her singularity of passion paired with intelligence paired with talent paired with great shoes and the perfect suit, you may realize your error. Although, in a polyester suit, you wont be able to do anything about your unfortunate underarm stains. Another thing pretty smart girls know–quality fabric. It’s in their DNA.
They also know how to do battle with the likes of you. They’ve been proving girls like you wrong since their first reading of Sun Tzu. And since they read it the first time at age three, I think you’re toast. Step out of the ring sister. You are indeed outmatched.
When you come to the realization that my daughter is “wicked smat” as you soon will–by the way your Boston accent does nothing in singling you out as intelligencia–it will be too late. She will already be at the head of your class rocking a great externship and future plans all with polished nails and a great haircut. Perhaps you can fetch her coffee. Your best tact right now might be to quickly clean up your mess, do your best to make friends with all the girls in your group because, believe it or not, it can get lonely up there on your high horse.
And next time, pick a real battle not an imaginary one to which you have assigned a mistaken enemy. Fortunately for you, if you ever want to be her friend, she will probably happily be yours. She’s like that. Her good manners would never allow her to treat you the way you’ve treated her. She will welcome you. Me, not so much. And if you remember nothing else from our chat today remember this:
A woman scorned has nothing on the wrath of a mother. Don’t pick on my kid girlfriend.