Birds of a feather
Home Affairs: A stamp, a fist fight, what if the Nepo is good?, more weed, a refusal to speak Spanish, a midday call, back to strength training, and cheating by way of literature.
It’s been a decent week. I almost got in a fight with a teenager—a physical fight, I mean. I say teenager but he was probably 20. I was driving home after a quick dip in the ocean to freshen up my body post-workout. I could sense his frenzied energy behind me. Speeding when it wasn’t necessary, breaking dramatically, and ignoring stop signs. A muster of peacocks was crossing the street, so I reduced my speed. This, of course, annoyed the teenager behind me. Conscious of my decision, I came to a full stop. Immediately, he honked the same way I assume he ejaculates, prematurely and uncontrollably. Things escalated quickly.
I could see his violent gestures through my rearview mirror. The peacocks were almost on the other side of the road, so I resumed my journey. When suddenly, he (the teenager! the premature ejaculator!) made a mistake. He didn’t know I, too, had my window down because I, too, wanted to enjoy a breeze of fresh air. I heard it clearly, “Fucking bitch!” I chuckled. Looked at him again, filled with fury. And as I laughed, a thunder of clarity possessed my right foot to press the break. “No fucking way!” he yelled. I was only wearing a damp see-through t-shirt and black (wet, too) panties -from the quick dip in the ocean, remember?- still, I got out of the car.
My face burned in flames as I screamed, “What is wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with you, asshole?” He went silent. Maybe it was the lack of pants on my legs. Maybe it was the anger in my words. Maybe it was my knuckles ready to hit him in the face if he decided to get out of his dad’s car. He didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. “That’s what I thought, bitch,” I concluded as I walked back to my soccer mom's car.
My hands guided the steering wheel. I got home safe. Two thoughts pounding in my head. The first: I need to properly educate my son so that he doesn’t grow into that young man. The second: maybe therapy isn’t over.
Something I’ve been considering for a while: If the nepo is good, fine, we’ll take her.