Diary of a wimp

I have two sets of friends who always bring me right back to my primary school days. You see, these friends both came from huge families, and what I remember most about them was that if you touched one, you touched all. Back in school, no one wanted to piss them off. You did so at your own peril as the entire entourage would be lay waiting you after school.

You see, when you are a lone wimpy child, you learn not to unduly ruffle people's feathers. You become an expert in how to avoid a fight. In fact, let me just go ahead and own it: I am a coward, and if I learnt anything from my mother’s many sayings, it was that a “coward man keeps sound bone.”

I have never been in a fight (a physical fight that is). In fact, I cannot fight. As the lone child for my mother, it was always me, myself and I. Even back then, I guess you may say that I understood Charles Darwin theory of “survival of the fittest”. In short, I wasn't fit and I needed to survive.

But you hardly realize how seemingly insignificant tit-bits like these affect your relationship, and even better yet, how they shape the adult you become.

Take my husband, for example, he is from a huge family. Yep, he grew up sharing a home with nine brothers and sisters! Can you imagine that entourage coming to get you after school? (Cue soundtrack to “Another one bites the dust.”). Needless to say, my husband and his siblings are from the brave heart clan. When I first told my husband that I had never been in a physical fight, he looked at me like I had just stepped out of an alien movie. And what else would I expect from a man who has probably delivered more knock-out punches than Ali himself.

But it’s not just about the difference in our personalities. The real downside of being a wimp is that whereas my hubby will battle hell and high water for me, I am more likely to abandon him in times of war. Yes, I am ashamed (stands in a corner). I am not a “ride or die chick” (I mean, why do I have to die?) nor am I Konshens “Bad Gyal.” (Unless, in wanting a girl to defend him, he means in court, before a judge... or better yet, I’m a total badass with written submissions.)

But the difference in our personalities and the influence of a small versus a large family has never been more evident as it was a few summers ago when we hung out with his younger sister at Dream Weekend (a holiday weekend of partying).

The many moods of my darling sis!

Now, you must understand that my husband’s sister is a total diva and an absolute hottie… and a hot head, just like her brother. Well, at this one particular party, my sister-in-law and I were walking through the thick party crowd when some random male made the mistake of groping at her. She stopped dead in her tracks, “Yow punk, a wah you just do?” There was no trace of her American accent as she was in full on confrontational mode.

I almost swallowed my tongue. OMG! WTF? Seriously! This woman knows I can’t fight, right?

Dear Lord, let’s just keep moving. Of course, I was only mentally willing her to move as she assumed the Xena Warrior mode, ready to go to battle.

My mind was in overdrive: Oh Jesus! Really! Sweet baby Jesus, if this turns into a fight, I’m going to look like a real punk if I run away. But I cannot fight! Where the hell is my husband?! Come get your sister!

My coward self was already looking for an escape route as I willed myself to stay planted in the same spot in case it did escalate into a fight. Maybe, just maybe, with enough coaxing I could curl my fingers into a fist.

Thankfully, homeboy was smart enough to back off.

Whew! Disaster averted, and I managed to stave off a mild heart attack.

We got to the bar, finally catching up with hubby. But, it seemed as if the gods were against me. We were just in time to witness a young man throwing his drink into the face of a female bartender while screaming at her that his order was wrong. Now, if you have spent a minute with my husband, you know that such wrong must be avenged – promptly and swiftly.

“Yow, yute a wah you just do?” That was my cue to back away from the scene, because as I have learnt from experience, it was about to get ugly.

As I was backing away, his sister was stepping closer.

Seriously?!

Now, very few men are brave enough to defy my hubby when he is in militant mode. This was one of the few brave souls. Dear God, just let this knucklehead shut it and be quiet (I have mumbled this prayer many times). The brave fellow dared to ask my husband, “You know who you a talk to?”

And that would set it off. But wait, even before my husband could transform into what I call “Hulk mode” in steps his sister, directly up to the fellow, “P&&&y a wah you a do?"

WTF is wrong with Xena Warrior Princess? Dear God! By now my coward ass is almost 10 feet away from hubby, Xena and the brave one.

Thankfully, before my Hulk (aka my hubby) was able to fully unleash, Braveheart came to his senses and decided to back off. Not that I had stuck around to see if he would. By the time hubby and Xena caught up with me, I was close to the party exit.

You know how they say in certain situations your adrenalin pumps to get you ready for flight or fight mode. Well mine is stuck in one mode: flight!

The way I see it, it’s better that I get out the way as my wimpy ass can only worsen the situation... not help it.

I must admit though that I am more than a little ashamed of my cowardice. I’ll be the first to admit that I am more than envious of persons who are daring, bold, confident and ready to go to battle anytime. Maybe that’s why I have always befriended them…and even ended up marrying one.