I'm still sick, but I wanted to share this. It was the revenge of the nerds in my last class session, or more accurately, the revenge of the lesbians.
The woman I sit next to in class is a serious dyke. She's gruff and big and looks like she could nudge tractor-trailors out of her way for fun, and wears women's symbol earrings. She's not conventionally attractive, but has a certain arresting quality that you get with anyone who knows who they are, and doesn't give a shit what anyone thinks about it.
In another part of the classroom is the girl (not a woman, a girl) I think of as BitchyGirl. She's quite attractive (looks like Discord from Xena actually), and scowls at everyone that catches her eye. I'm sure that not so long ago, she was one of those vicious girls that delighted in tormenting the unpopular. She's Heather Duke, Nellie Oleson, and Sandi from Daria. With a good shot of the Wicked Witch of the West thrown in.
For some reason, BitchyGirl had decided to sit in the spot usually taken by SeriousDyke. BitchyGirl had left her books to stake out a spot and then gone elsewhere. SeriousDyke arrives.
SeriousDyke: "Whose books are those?"
Me: "The girl with the long hair who usually sits next to the guy in the red shirt."
This clearly puts SeriousDyke out. I mentioned that she's a large woman? She's a very large woman. It's a crowded classroom, with desks and chairs a little too close together. An aisle seat is clearly the best option for someone of her size, and this is the only aisle seat available in the entire room.
BitchyGirl arrives.
SeriousDyke: (gruffly) Hey, can we switch places? I really need to sit here.
BitchyGirl strikes a pose and glares at SeriousDyke.
It's clearly a glare perfected through long years of glaring at the first kid to get glasses, the first kid to get braces, the kid who was overweight, the first girl to get a bra, the girl who didn't get a bra long after she should've, the kid who didn't wear the right sneakers and the kid who was always picked last for everyone from sports to sleepovers.
Even as an observer, the glare has the power to make my heart beat a little faster, and the adrenalin start pumping.
The only visible effect on SeriousDyke is a mildly impatient expression on her face. The sort you get when asking a direct question of someone you now suspect of being a great deal stupider than yourself.
SeriousDyke: So? Can we change places?
BitchyGirl suddenly seems to realize that the rules have changed and not in her favor. I can see her face sort of flatten and her body shrink. I've heard that when a curse is repelled by the intended target, it then rebounds to torment the originator. Faced by someone impervious to her might, BitchyGirl's power has evaporated.
She still hasn't said a word and doesn't seem capable of doing so. Her only response is to grab her books and slink off down the aisle, looking like a cat that's had a bucket of water thrown over it, all wounded dignity and flattened fur, and not nearly as big as you thought when it was dry and fluffy.
Heather, my dear, there's a new sheriff in town.
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