Please!! EVERY time I hear someone say "He fights like a girl" I just want to laugh right out loud and say, "Oh, you mean he's about to kick some ass, without taking names? 'Cause I've NEVER known a girl to fight fairly." (I say "fairly" with the "ly" because it's an adverb situation, and ultimately the proper way to say that particular statement.)
No! Girls do not, do not, do not, fight fairly, and no one on God's green Earth should expect them to. Why in God's raging Hell should we fight fairly? What's the point of fighting if you're just going to obey rules and regulations which could somehow give away your next move? NOPE...we do not, we will not, we should not, and we won't ever fight fairly - - be forewarned.
When my son was just under four months old he and I were living in this tiny rinky-dinky little flat that didn't have central heat and there was only one door in or out, just one entrance. Sometime in the middle of the night a man I didn't know (drunk, raging angry at his ex) came to my door - - he began pounding on the door and demanding that I give him his baby! He was absolutely insane with his fury, but because I didn't have a telephone at the time (before cell phones) I had to try to convince him that I wasn't his ex, I wasn't who he thought I was, my baby was in fact MY baby, and I needed him to leave before I called the police. "Ha!" he cried, "I already cut the damn telephone line, bitch", was his retort. ACTIVATE PLAN B.
Plan B for me was to quickly toss my son into the closet with as many blankets and pillows around him as possible while simultaneously continuing my conversation with the drunk, letting him know I was not about to let him walk into my house and steal my son. I reminded him at least a dozen times that I was not who he thought I was -- all the while talking I was in the kitchen pulling out the drawers and locating two large cutlery knives, one a Butcher the other a serrated slicer. I found the knives, and I also found a half roll of duct tape in the same drawer - - Plan B, Part B crystalized in my brain.
Strapping the two knives to the inside of my wrists (both, and no it wasn't easy) I managed to use my teeth to cut the tape and place myself in an awkwardly dominating position on top of my couch facing the front door JUST IN CASE the man decided he had heard enough back talk and wanted to enter my home! He wanted to entered my home! BOOM! The man used all of his weight and force to come crashing through my door only to see a half naked angry mother bear on top of a couch with two stainless steel killing mechanisms strapped to her in a position of upward motion rather than an obvious downward one - - this man was about to be split six ways to Sunday and I didn't give a damn if he spewed his nasty blood all over me, my couch, my floor, the ceiling, the walls, he was going to DIE!
It didn't take the man more than his initial first second of entry to realize he was standing at Hell's gate and I was about to Sparta his butt right over the pit! "Oh!" he let out - - "You ain't Darla!" NO I AM NOT DARLA! I am the mother of a baby boy who is resting silently without any knowledge of his maniac mother about to take the life of a would be kidnapper - - I am a MOTHER and you do not ever mess with a momma's baby -- you just never want to do that; even the most gentle of beings will fight to her death when her baby is endangered. What are rules? What are signs? What are regulations if all we know is to protect?
I'd like to say that I've grown out of the raging maniac stage in my life, but I'd be lying if I said that. If someone tried to take my kid(s) today, my grandkids, even my dog probably, they'd find that I have a really nasty side still thriving inside my veins - - thank God I've kept her quiet all these many years. Jesus has been such a good friend to keep me at bay and from exposing myself - - (giggles).
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