So I was talking to Michael about how his little heathen children were going on about how they refused to have fat girlfriends/wives.
He chuckled and said, "That's okay. That's how their daddy used to be."
You could say that I have reformed him. He has since seen the error of his ways. I like to think that I broadened his horizons (literally) because baby mama had the body of a 13 year old boy. For the past twelve years he has lived the exciting life of curves, dips, hills, dimples, valleys and "squishiness". And its all good in our hood.
But he wasn't always like this.
One Thanksgiving evening, about fourteen years ago, I called him up and invited him to hang out with my family. We hadn't seen each other in several months because we had taken our friendship in separate directions. But on this night, he accepted my invitation and drove over to my grandparent's house in East L.A.
I have to admit, I was really, really hoping he had turned ugly. I knew it was going to be rough hanging out and being buddies if he still looked good and I was attracted to him. So when he walked in, looking all cute and whatnot, I was all daaaaaaangit inside. But on the outside I maintained my composure, and we spent the evening playing board games and laughing.
I'll never forget the night. We were playing Scattergories. I was being my usual smart-assed, know-it-all, overachieving-board-game-playing self. I wasn't gonna let up just because a cute boy was playing. Note: that's just how I am when we play board games. I wanna win!
Hopefully, you're all familiar with how to play Scattergories. You get a list of random things, you roll the dice and then have to name off all this randomness with whatever letter your dice has landed on. I was smokin' everybody. Apparently, it didn't occur to me that trying to show how smart you are whilst playing a board game wasn't all that attractive to the opposite sex.
The dice, if you can call it that--it's a faceted ball with letters of the alphabet on it--landed on "F".
Names of fruit...figs!
Type of animal...frog!
Things you throw in the trash...fish bones!
Type of spice...fennel!
U.S State Capitals...Frankfort!
Things that are scary...firestorms!
Needless to say, I was tearin' it up. Like I was gonna win a trophy or something.
When the timer went off and we had to reveal our answers, Michael had this tiny smirk on his face. Oh, just let me have the chance to wipe that smirk off his gorgeous face when I add up all my points, I thought.
So we all reveal "things that are scary".
Falling off a cliff.
Then he said it... "Fat chicks."
Whoa. Whoa. WHOA. D-d-did he just say what I think he said? Did he just go there? Oh no, he didn't! Oh, no he didn't just say he was scared of fat chicks.
You could hear the crickets.
And there was that smirk again. "What? That's my answer! I'm not trying to offend anyone. What?"
Pretty ballsy move considering he was sitting at a table with me and my auntie Glo, whose ghetto booty could smoosh him dead in a second. If she wanted to. Together, we could crush him to dust, a fine powder, if you will. That table was pushing about 500 lbs., yo. And that was just me and my auntie Glo. Recognize.
But my auntie Glo was a good sport. She laughed. I laughed. We all laughed. But for 1.5 seconds, I caught her nostrils flaring and I knew she was thinking, what kind of cocky little $hit did my niece just bring up in this house?
And I was like, daaaaaangit....he still looks good though.
Now you know where my son's obnoxiousness comes from. Every time Michael is ready to skin Diego alive, I remind him: He is just like you, dear.