Telling People To Go Fuck Themselves ~ And Other Great Acts of Self Care

I told a man to go fuck himself today, and I’m not even going to apologize for it. That’s because he deserved it—and I don’t feel bad. At all.

Now, let me begin by saying, He started it! This will infuriate my mother. Maybe not. She was known to throw out an occasional, well-deserved f-bomb in her day.

Anyway, this guy. This guy who looked to be someone’s husband. Someone’s good ol’ dad. Their Pop.
Without even knowing me, he judged my parking. Actually, he said, and I quote: You can’t park there  You. Dumb. Bitch!

Okay. Now, in an act of full disclosure, I will admit that as far as parking goes—he’s warm. I can be a parking challenged. Even though I could win a parallel parking contest any day of the week, sometimes I am guilty of squeezing my station wagon into a “compact” space, creating a space where there might not be one, and taking ten tries to get into an awkwardly angled spot.

But who hasn’t?

Just to be clear, HIS outburst was not provoked by ANY of those things. My parking was flawless.

Flagged into a rare metered spot in front of my favorite cafe by the valet himself, I was just running in for two seconds (five minutes, maybe ten) to pick up take-out salads for my sister and me. As is our unspoken custom, the lovely man gestured for me to take the space. Listen, it was his space to give, but apparently, the judgy guy’s car was sniffing my car’s butt—because he was thisclosetome—convinced that meter had his name on it.

Unsuspecting, I cheerily jumped out of my car salivating for my favorite Chinese chicken salad which is like crack, or bacon, or bacon crack, or chocolate covered bacon crack to me.

In any case, that’s when the bad man pulled up next to me, rolled down his window and called me a dumb bitch.

“Excuse me, what did you say?” I asked, dumb (bitch) founded.

“You heard me,” he snarled.

“Did you call me a dumb bitch?”

“Well,” he sneered, “If the shoe fits.”

After that, I’m not exactly sure what happened. Everything went into slow motion. My saliva dried up, birds fell out of the sky, music played backwards, and before I even had time to form a thought—my mouth did the talking.

I wasn’t mad. Not really. I bent over, a big smile on my face, leaned into his passenger side window, gave him an unintentional cleavage shot (you’re welcome old man)—told him to go fuck himself with a little hand gesture and everything. Then I strolled away like a boss.

I could smell the burning rubber as he screeched away.

I can’t explain it—but you guys, it felt FANTASTIC!

Like empowered, hands on both hips, Wonder Woman fan-fucking-tastic!

I don’t ever do stuff like that! I’m polite. I’m nice. Too nice. I apologize for stuff that’s not even my fault.

Maybe it was the addition of the phrase “dumb bitch.” I can’t be sure.

Anyway, you guys, I’m not advocating telling strangers to go fuck themselves. Or maybe I am.

Bottom line: Don’t take anybody’s shit.

Carry on,
xox