Denial, anger, denial, anger, etc.
I no longer scream at the radio or throw the paper away unread before I can catch the headlines. I am cautiously allowing some news to seep into our home, all of it bad. I still throw up into the toilet upon hearing the phrase ‘President elect’, but sometimes I do it figuratively now. I no longer ignore the cats and dogs because they didn’t bother to vote and we all have to live with the consequences of their lazy inaction. I’m feeding them again, because really? They are just ignorant and ill-informed. Most of them can’t read. If they could, they would, instead of spending hours licking their genitals. Yesterday, I laughed at something someone said. Is this the beginning of the bargaining stage?
Disclosure: I’m a Drama Queen. My skin is so thin it welts when I let my fingernails lightly run over it. That’s why I mostly keep my hands to myself.
Except when it comes to hugging women in headdresses — I hug every last one I see. Most like it. To those who seem confused or appalled, I say: “I’m hugging you, woman in a hijab, because you are my sister and you don’t know yet what’s coming.”
If she says, “Please go away”, and it’s in Arabic, which I don’t speak, I don’t go away, because it’s my duty to envelope her in love, whatever the linguistic confusion. If it’s in English I pretend I cannot understand her accent and hug her anyway.
I eat only Mexican food — out of protest. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. The portion sizes at the Mexican place near my house are huge, and my parents conditioned me to waste not/want not. I have gained eight pounds in the past three weeks, but this is no time for vanity.
This morning, Cesar Ruiz– the proprietor — said he could cut down the portions for me no problem; he’d do the same for every American who didn’t equate more with better. Wow, Cesar Ruiz, I thought: master chef, business magnate — and philosopher. I closed my eyes and imagined I’d moved to Mexico. Quiero Estar Loco was quietly playing in the background and I was surrounded by warmth and thoughtfulness.
But tonight? Cesar’s son Armando brings me salsa without any chips and asks me to ”kindly keep out the loud politics, because Republicans are customers, too.”
“Whaaa????” I say.
“My dad asked me to ask you to keep out the loud politics because Republicans are customers, too.”
I’m lucky my Tequila shot glass doesn’t shatter my teeth on impact.
I swirl around to survey the room and I see them: Three dunderheads in hateful red hats, the fourth not wearing one but clearly with them: Look at the greedy way he gobbles up the Guacamole! The nerve of them!
Mexican-Americans feeding Republicans is almost as absurd as women voting for a sexist. What is wrong with the world?
“Let it be known, “ I yell across the room, “that I, for one, will never, ever accept this!”
“Buy that lady a drink, Jose,” one of the red-hat-dunces says to Armando, who looks at me beseechingly, “Tell her it’s on me.”
Kill me now.