Every day of my life I'm the target of abuse, because I am not like you. I know! It's weird, right? Weird but true. I'm an actual ethnic minority, which is also really strange, because most welfare offices operate on the flawed premise that people who come from the biggest continent on Planet Earth (also known as "Africa": https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/African_diaspora) are rare as human beings, hence the marketing terms "urban demographic" and "minority", which is not actually true in any of the numbers I've ever seen (creative accounting aside), you know, because of the size of it. Nor does your status as a descendant of the formerly vast Spanish Empire entitle you to cash money, gifts, and/or prizes, or anything else that's totally free. Again, see the real numbers here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spaniards. You read it right, amigo. That number is 48 MILLION PEOPLE. Stick that on your flag and smoke it!
With that in mind, I use an herbal-based cleansing conditioner that's oddly shelved in the "ethnic" section (read as "black" or "brown"), because apparently the only weirdos with this kind of fucked up hair must be marginalized at each and every opportunity that presents itself to the makers of said products, just in case you somehow wake up one day to realize that you are not alone. In fact, there are BILLIONS of you muthfuckas, a'ight? I know what you're thinking: "Mommy" is trapped in a weirdly fantastical bubble that is suburban America, a place where "white" people think they are normal, and you are the oddball. I know, because every time I go into a commonly overpriced drugstore chain here in New York, some bitch behind the counter pretends not to see me if I may (rarely) need her help because the self-service machine is fucked up, just so she can signal to me anew my lowly position in relation to her, in case I forgot that my status as "Other" did not scrub off my skin during bath time.
It's become such a joke with my peeps around here, that I openly signal my understanding of the situation to any other "minorities" waiting in line who are similarly ignored by retail clerks (read: black folk. Yep, in 21st century New York), by pantomiming a scrubbing motion up and down my arm, mouthing to them: "It didn't wash off me, either!", then pointing to them, "Didn't wash off on you neither? No?", finally throwing up my hands in mock frustration to shrug my shoulders and just walk away. What's a n***a to do, right? The ad copy on a brown-colored bottle of cleanser marketed to "n****s" is so offensive, I had to read it a couple of times just to get it down. I think I counted at least six references to my "unmanageable" "unique" "twisted" "natural" hair, like I am some fucking Aboriginal Pygmy from New Guinea, recently discovered by a jauntily-dressed British explorer on safari.
I am not your particular pygmy dream child to fret over, Weird Marketing Wacko. I am just not entirely "white", like billions of other muthafuckas on the planet. Deal with it, yo. 'Cause we fuckin' do, every damn day. Every day we deal with your inbred isolated pocketed of protected weirdness, ya frightened Hobbit folk. Get wit' it in this century. People MOVE AROUND the globe. Fuck! Alright, now that we got that mess taken care of, let's look to my numbers for the real deal: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/M%C3%A9tis_people_%28Canada%29. Join me here in my land that is without delusional fantasies. It's fun! Ain't no one throwin' a better party than Acadians. Trust! I am your "One Percent", and I am the home you seek in this time of sickness among the rare who remain healthy. Come back to me in this world.
We are forever, my love.
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| "To infinity and beyond!" |
