MOST THINGS CONSIDERED
By:Minx McCloud
A cool autumn breeze blew and I could almost see my breath as I walked to the grocery store early Sunday morning. I swung my arms energetically, happy to be alive.
For about five minutes.
An elderly woman walked toward me, dressed to the teeth for winter, including a wool cap and muffler.
"Good morning!" I said cheerfully as I passed her.
Her eyes widened in horror.
"Aren’t you freezing?" she said, her voice shrill. "Where on earth is your coat? You’re going to get a cold. What’s the matter with you?"
I’m used to this reaction, and to tell you quite frankly, I’m sick of it. It just so happens that I rarely wear a jacket (or even a sweater) between April and November. Those who encounter me always seem to take it as a personal affront.
Let’s get the record straight: Unless you’re my dear old Aunt Alice (who actually chastised me once for whistling in public), mind your own darned business!
| There’s probably a reason that a perfect stranger feels she can tell me I shouldn’t have potato chips in my cart because I’m way too fat for my own good. Maybe I subconsciously invite people to tell me what kind of clothes I should wear, what makeup to use, or what I should be eating for dinner. |
It usually happens when I encounter elderly women, those who feel that longevity has earned them the right to blurt out whatever they think to whomever they encounter.
Hey, I don’t tell you that you’re too old to drive, that you shouldn’t be smoking cigarettes or that the flimsy door locks on your house practically invite Jack the Ripper to pay you a visit. I don’t tell you those things because I don’t know you, and even if I did, I figure you’re an adult and you probably don’t want unsolicited advice.
What makes people think that they can walk up to someone they don’t know and criticize them, especially in public? Perhaps my friendly, outgoing demeanor encourages them in some way.
There’s probably a reason that a perfect stranger feels she can tell me I shouldn’t have potato chips in my cart because I’m way too fat for my own good. Maybe I subconsciously invite people to tell me what kind of clothes I should wear, what makeup to use, or what I should be eating for dinner.
And I probably enable them further by smiling frozenly (more from shock than friendliness) as they sweep away, having had their say.
Well, I don’t do that anymore, so be forewarned next time you’re tempted to play "mom" to a stranger " it might be me, and I’m apt to be testy.
(Interestingly, men don’t seem to do this to me. They simply ignore me, which, while a negative when I was single, has now become a plus.)
All ye who read this, take heed: I’ve begun to fight back.
So when this woman approached me Sunday, I stopped short and stared her down.
"Do I know you?" I asked. "I don’t think so, because if we were acquainted, you would know how much I resent people like you. No, I am not cold, and if I were cold, I would certainly do something about it. And no, I will not get a cold unless I’m exposed to a germ or virus. And there’s nothing the matter with me. There’s something the matter with you! How dare you speak to me as if I’m a child."
"You’re a very rude woman," she called after me as I stalked away.
I guess I was, but I simply do not want Big Brother (or Big Mother) watching me anymore. I put up with that when I lived with my parents.
When you ask a question like "Aren’t you freezing?" it may seem innocent, but you are, in essence, saying, "I don’t believe you have the brains God gave a goldfish, or else you would be wearing a coat. Every sane person is wearing a coat. You’re not."
I resent it, because now, not only have you insulted me, you’ve broken the rhythm of my day; you’ve interfered with my chi (energy). I greeted you happy, willing to share the joy of the day and you, in turn, verbally slapped me down, making me feel like a puppy that just wet the rug.
I’m sure that somewhere in the world, there are gross injustices being committed entire populations, but you know what? Sometimes the little things just get to me.
Of course, I immediately felt remorseful about what I had said. Since I had seen the woman in the neighborhood and knew where she lived, I decided to drop a box of candy off at her house.
I was standing on line at the grocery, when a reed-thin woman of about 65 stuck her hand into my cart and tapped the chocolates.
"You’re certainly not going to lose any of that weight eating those, dear," she said.
Although my reply was rather eloquent (I thought), it contained a couple of words that are probably best left out of a family newspaper.
I must say, though, Jim and I really enjoyed that box of Russell Stover candy.
Minx McCloud is a free-lance journalist who writes about life in New Jersey. You can criticize her choice of writing topics at [email protected].
Last week’s column:
Distraught writer emotionally bushwhacks policeman