How I Became a Big, Loud, Vulgar Woman

And ignored everyone who told me to stay small and smile

Photo by Alex Blăjan on Unsplash

I’ve always been told I’m too big and too loud for a woman. Here’s how I got that way.

1. Dad, the old whoremonger

Let me describe my earliest memory of Mom and Dad. Mom’s bent over in the middle of our living room with her panties around her ankles, silk lavender nightgown hiked up around her waist to expose both ass cheeks. Dad’s sitting on the couch behind her with the remote control in his hand, leaning to one side so he can still see around her full moon to watch The Lone Ranger.

“Won’t you sit down,” he grumbles.

“Make me, you old whoremonger,” Mom says, slapping her ass so hard it blushes red.

Point made, she stands and pulls up her underwear, snapping the spandex against her waist as a final act of aggression.

I’m five years old, and I take Mom’s side in everything — I decide I’m mad at Dad too, for being whatever an old hormungler is, and glare at him over my barbies.

2. “Oh honey, now that ain’t how it went — let me tell you how it is!”