Redreesa’s Blog

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About that fight in middle school. April 26, 2009

Yeah. I was totally in one of those.
Like, I’m not even kidding. It was a for-real street fight.
That I totally won. Even though she broke my glasses.

Yeah, so, here I am nearly 15 years later and that bitch is serving me my drinks. Rightfully so.
I gotta make sure it’s really her. Things this karmically wonderful don’t happen to me that often. I need to savor the sweetness of it.

The conversation goes down like this…
me: What’s your name?
her: Sara*
me: Did you grow up in Arlington?
her: Yeah…
me: Oh my God. We totally got into a fight in middle school…
{insert her stink eye here}
her: What’s your name?

me: You wouldn’t recognize me. I look nothing remotely like I did back then.

her: You had blonde hair then. And you were heavier.

me: Yeah I was a fat kid… (BUT a complete and UTTER BADASS)

her: We didn’t fight in school, tho. It was in the neighborhood.
me: Well, yeah. (YES- a street fight, bitches. Cuz I am a badass)
her: Yeah, you were messing with my sister!
(insert me praying that she doesn’t bring up in front of my boyfriend and Asst. GM that I bit her on the arm in the middle of the fight cuz me and Mike Tyson are tight like that, yo)

me: No, I was minding my business. You kept hitting me with a plastic bottle.
her: Oh, yeah… It was in the pouch on the front of your bike!
(SEE? Total badass, y’all)
me: Yeah, well… sure. We’ll take 2 Bud Lights. Thanks.

Y’all, this chick is SKINNY now.

Like Crystal-Meth-Skinny. And she’s missing teeth- lots of them.

And she has tattoos ALL OVER.

Now, I’m not hating on tattoos cuz I have my own and I love them, but DUDE. She has them sporadically covering her torso. I know this because SHE LIFTED HER SHIRT (in the middle of her shift, mind you)  to show them to the table next to us.

I think, even in the long run, I still win that fight. Karma be damned.

 

*This name has not been changed. Her name really is Sara. I just don’t know if I spelled it right. And the * is to show how much I DON’T CARE.

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