|Lo, Me, Whit, Mal, Cat, and Hay|
I was always the most diminutive kid in class. I don’t only wear heels to work because I like them; I wear them because I can’t make reasonable eye contact with anyone unless I add on three or four inches. I’m short. And ‘cept for my thighs and booty, I’m scrawny. One look at this girl says that she’s no threat.
Until I open my yap. Then I’m a potent, crazy-ass bitch not to be trifled with.
Growing up, I pointed my sass at everything. Mostly family. It’s not like that any more, and I feel pretty rotten for how I treated my peeps growing up. Hopefully though I make up for it now with dedicated and lethal defense of that family. You attack my parents, sisters, or brothers-in-law and their spawn and I will react in one of three ways: 1) promptly cut you off altogether, 2) let loose the kind of verbal/written assault that can only result in your tears or shame, or 3) grudgingly—if temporarily—keep my ire to myself and let you get away with your offense in order to preserve my sisters’ relationships and reputation with people they can’t get away from (e.g, in-laws).
My sisters know that they can count on me completely to fly to their defense—whether or not that’s what they want. If I spot crime aimed at my family, well, the victims don’t so much get to choose whether or not I’ll handle it using the only real tools at my disposal: words and guts, things I’ve got in spades when it comes to defending my most loved ones. Most of the time I’m spineless and inarticulate, but supporting my family brings out my more reckless and vocal side.
You want to be on my team. You want to be on my sisters’ team. Otherwise, I’ll lurk in the tall grass waiting for the right moment to let loose on your sorry ass.