These Boots Were Made for Walking

I should preface this by saying I am currently very angry, and that I haven't written on this page in a long time.  Even in my angry haze, I acknowledge that part of my post will eventually be blamed on a "heat-of-the-moment" anger.  But for now...I am angry.  And most likely, with the wrong person.

Let me explain.  I am dating, perhaps, the most judgmental person on the planet.  He is sweet.  But he will point out every flaw on your body with a doe-eyed "who me?" expression.  I remember the first day I acquainted this horror.  We were sitting on the beach, blessfully sunning when he pointed at my legs and innocently announced, "Look at that, I didnt; know you had stretch marks."  Neither did I.  I am dating the most observant jackass of all time.

Let me also preface this by saying...my loveable jackass can be incredibly rude and immature.  He's very cute, so I think he gets away with more than he should, but he has been known to say extremely hurtful things and get away with all of it.  I'm not just talkiing about me.  I mean to friends, to family.  Homeboy probably never learned any better. 

Tonight's story begins at the end.  We had just wrapped up a nice dinner with friends.  We stood out on the curb with our last standing friend, a nervous guy who has a first big date tomorrow night.  We were both offering comical advice that only a couple can offer.  (the guy-- play the field, wink wink.) The girl (don't try and make her jealous, she might freak out and ditch you).  That's when all of a sudden, a young man appears at my side.  "Can I ask you a question?" he says, looking me up and down.  I look at him imploringly.  What's up?

"Why do so many sorority girls wear those boots?" he asks me, indicating the boots that I am currently sporting.  Ladies and gentleman...prepare for my overreaction--but allow me to explain.  This is a dig.  I know, in print, and in all technical senses of the words--it doesn't look like much--but here in the moonlight stands a guy who is clearly not in a fraternity, who is clearly--not complimenting me on my outfit choice, and who has clearly had at least a little something to drink that would make him so bold as to approach a stranger on the street.

I answer, "I wouldn't know, I'm not in a sorority, I'm 24--I just like my boots."  Clearly, this is not enough for my curious new friend. 

"It's just that almost every single sorority girl down here has them--I just wonder why--"he ponders aloud.

"Are you not from around here?" I ask with some, admitted, venom to my voice.

"Oh no, I'm from around here," he responds.

"Oh okay.  I don't particularly care," I say with more venom.  I know.  I should have just ignored this guy.  This whole scenario is stupid.  The venom--let me explain.  I come from a southern college where the greek population is very dominate.  The majority of the people who are not in the greek population, however, are (for the most part) very against the greek population.  It's the idea that the entire greek student body is completely vapid, absorbed with wealth, and all of the latest silly trends (like my boots).  GDI's (god damn independents) as they call themselves are torn between pride and jealousy when it comes to the greek system.  I feel as though I can be relatively candid about the matter because I lived both lifestyles while in college.  Yes, I tried the greek system for 2ish years.  Then, I got over it and got out.  I don't fault anyone either way--it's a matter of what works for you.  But not everyone feels that way.  Those who have never been greek will occasionally assume (they're all blonde airheads looking for the MRS degree, getting wasted, and having nosejobs) but just like with independents (they're all nerds, they've never gotten laid, they all go to that creepy Irish pub)--none of those things are universal truths.

Back to the idea at hand--I overreacted.  But the reason is because this guy (clearly GDI) approached me with an assumption (boots=sorority).  If we know anything about those SAT questions (Sorority girls wear boots, girl A is wearing boots...girl A is a)a sorority girl (and thus an easy, stupid target--ATTACK!) b) a girl who enjoys cute footwear c)none of the above d)all of the above) I'm probably a stupid and easy target, right?

I sensed that this guy, walking up to me on the street, was looking for a little battle of wits.  I honestly don't believe he came up to me with geniune curiousity in his heart about women's footwear.  All the same, I answered his questions (albeit, with some raised eyebrows and bite) but "Bobby" and I shook hands by the end of it and parted ways--no harm, no foul. 

That is, until J, who had been watching from the sidelines throughout our boot discussion stepped in and decided to tell me that I had overreacted and given the "poor guy" waaaay to hard of a time.  I wasn't angry, really, until then.  Even when "Bobby" approached me on the street and began questioning my choice of shoes for the evening, I wasn't REALLY angry until J essentially called me a bitch.  (He enthusiastically denies the whole "Bitch thing" says I am putting words in his mouth).  Maybe so.  But suddenly, the self-proclaimed asshole jumped on his high-horse and began to look down on me for standing up to some guy who tried to start something with me on the street. 

You may be reading this saying, geeze girl, he was only asking about your boots.  I know.  At the heart of it, 'Bobby" never accused me of anything.  But the questioning was not in curiousity.  It was in distain.  It was, honestly, in hopes that I would melt under his superiority and say something like what he expected, "Ohhh...geeze...I don't know...all of my friends have them and since I don't have a mind of my own I rushed out with daddy's credit card and scooped up a pair."

Instead, I gave him this.  "Sorry if you don't like them and they make you jump to inappropriate conclusions about me, but this is part of my fashion sense and I don't appreciate you coming up to me and questioning me--particularly when you don't know me. "

But J looked at me with equally superior eyebrows raised and began to lecture me about how I should have taken the high road.  He's right.  But coming from a hypocrite like him--I felt like he may as well be saying--I'm assuming things about you and judging you, right now.  It didn't sit well with me and exploded into a fight.  Why didn't he back me up?  Why would he just side with the stranger on the street?  How could he not see how I was not "drunkenly lashing out a poor bystander", but instead, "justifying my choices and my identity".  His agrument, which made fair sense, why do you even care what he thinks.  But to my credit, why does J even care then?  Because I snapped right back at some stranger on the street?  The truth is, I don't care what "Bobby Boots" thinks of what I'm wearing.  I won't see him again.  But I don't like for anyone to think they can walk up to me because of what I'm wearing, what color my hair is, or how I look; and start a conversation with me that (in my opinion) was geared towards insulting me.  But what I care more about is that the person that I care about and who sees me, probably, more than anyone at this point, wouldn't back me up or see my perspective.  Instead, I'm the bad guy, I took the low road, shame on me. 

I didn't start anything, but I certainly wouldn't let "Bobby Boots" finish it.  Maybe I've twisted it in my "girl brain" but to me, the conversation translated into, "Why do all of those rich girls who are pretty, but incredibly vain and stupid always wear the same thing that you are wearing?"  The conversation proceeded, mind you, into "Bobby Boots" lecturing me about a frat party that he went to once where the punch was laced with prescription medication.  "I don't think it's right,"he stated, "to drug girls.  So I didn't drink the punch."  All I could do was nod (still annoyed...obviously, I could be lured into drinking that punch!) and say, "Alright."

But apparently, according to my boyfriend, I am the bitch.  Its funny, because when he is pointing out my flaws and it occasionally hurts my feelings, he encourages that I dish it back at him.  It's not my style.  Typically, I don't  "lash back".  But this time, from some random guy on the street, I said, nope.  You don't know me.  That's all I wanted to say.  Apparently my boyfriend doesn't either.

At some point, "wise, grandfather J" found a soap box and thought he should show me the error of my ways.