Posted on March 11, 2005


Last night I was privileged to spend some time at my illustrious campus’ most lively bars. The sort of place where I, at (nearly) 22, felt ancient and wrinkled with age. I was also wearing a shirt that covered my breasts,which apparently would have been unacceptable had I been three years younger. Totally a coincidence though…I was coming from the sort of class at which secondary sex organs are not expected to be displayed.
Another feature that clearly distinguished me as a person of advanced years was the fact that I was wearing women’s shoes. Correct me if I am wrong, but I feel that when visiting an establishment that dispenses liquor, particularly at night, large white men’s sneakers are not appropriate footwear, especially when paired with spray on jeans and tops that imperfectly conceal the wearer’s puppy fat. I don’t care if you live minutes away…heels are de rigeur. But I’m guessing my readers, if any, are sick of hearing my diatribes on hosiery. So moving on.
Through a coincidence, I found myself in the company of what must be the only ten white guys attending my school. Naturally, a sports team. These were guys who had clearly taken one too many blows to the head. I could see their thought processes visibly grinding with great difficulty. As I sat with them, there was so much testosterone floating about that I could feel my voice breaking. I had transformed to such a degree that they did not feel the need to censor their unbelievably sexist comments regarding passers by. Or, it could have been the fact that each of these gentlemen has his own pitcher of beer. His own pitcher, people. Each wandered about with a pitcher clutched in one hand and a glass in the other. This sociological phenomenon was later explained to me as intrinsic to the nature of Canadian sports.
At one point, a Jamaican guy joined the group. I could feel everyone’s tensions rise as they tried to get more hip. Not very successful. This guy leaned over to me and randomly said he could guess where I was from. He guessed right on the first try. I was really impressed. Not everyone is conversant with the minutiae that distinguish one bunch of Arabs from another. Unless you’re from Mississauga.
Of course, a few fights broke out and this guy kept grabbing my ass. He also grabbed some guys’ asses though, so I didn’t know how insulted to be. Actually it was kind of nice not to be among over groomed, over refined law type guys. Maybe if you grow to a decent height, you don’t feel the need to make lots of money to feel like a man.
The evening concluded with some lovely impaired driving.