Tuesday, August 03, 2004 Zesty
Last year in Ricmond, I was in the gun store with my boyfriend at the time, and I ended up buying a small cannister of pepper spray, because I feel rude leaving a store empty-handed. I could have bought a shotgun, I guess, or, provided a month had elapsed since I'd previously treated myself to a little "me time" or "retail therapy" in the form of a handgun purchase, I could have had a quick, refreshing background check and walked off a little later with any gun in the store.
I got the pepper spray instead, because I'm no fun, and because it came in a purple container. "Ladies love purple," the clerk said. I couldn't argue. It would have been a lie.
The gun store wasn't as unpleasant as I had always assumed it would be. I've had less pleasant experiences in high end clothing stores. On days when I'm touched in the head, I've had less pleasant experiences in the grocery store.
I felt good about the pepper spray, but I never carried it accessibly, therefore defeating the entire point. Its presence made reaching into my giant handbag more exciting, as though there were a small alligator in there. You reach in aiming for lipstick, and you come up with the pepper spray instead! Yeeeow! Looking So Good, or chemical burns: astute acquaintances may have noticed that I do not often wear many cosmetics.
The ex-mate is always pepper-spraying people. Opportunities for casual violence arise more frequently for him than they ever have for me, because he tends to respond vehemently to insults, and four out of five hair-trigger lunatics who insult him are also looking for fights. These are just impressions I've gathered from a mountain of anecdotal evidence.
I don't get a lot of insults. Instead, my dedicated team of freelance, pro-bono focus groupers appear on the street and in passing cars to let me know what they think of my body and my fashion choices for the day. It is a service they provide for me and most other females in the city, so that we may know which parts of our anatomy are particularly eye-catching.
I've started carrying the old pepper spray anyway, nestled in my palm when I walk to the store or to my vacation home. It's last year's model, and I'm sure it's a real fashion "Don't". Purple probably isn't even a hot color for chemical irritant packaging anymore. I don't even know that it makes me feel safer, but it's so interesting to me to know what it is that I'm carrying in my hand that it makes those evening walks just fly by. posted by Frenz | 8/03/2004 12:08:00 AM
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