Wednesday, June 2, 2010

My Name is Inigo Montoya

My son tried out for a travel soccer team today. The team will be made up of boys from all around the area, not just our town. As a result, I knew some-- but not all-- of the mothers there with their boys.

Because I had my daughter with me I mostly watched the try-outs from a playground next to the field. After spinning my daughter on a tire swing (at her request) for so long she actually fell over when she got down, I ended up chatting about the tryouts with another woman (we'll call her Vizzini). As we were talking, a woman I know from my town came over (we'll call her the Dread Pirate Roberts). In the course of our conversation DPR asked Vizzini whether she lived in our town. Vizzini said no and told us the name of the town she lives in. DPR evidently has family there and was very chatty and friendly.

After DPR walked away, Vizzini let loose with some surprising vitriol. "How pretentious. 'Do you live in [my town here]?' It's like she doesn't even know that anyone from anywhere can be on this team. It's so pretentious. The coach isn't from [my town here] or anything."

"Well, I'm from [my town here]," I say. "She probably just thought that since we were talking that you were from [my town here] too. She's actually very nice."

Vizzini ignored everything I said and continued to rip my town, the people in my town, the kids in my town, the people (and their kids) in neighboring towns, and all kids who have to look beyond their own siblings for playdates. More than a few offenders were incorrectly (at least in the context of what she was complaining about!) slammed as, you guessed it, pretentious.

The whole time I was seeing Wallace Shawn's head on her body. And so, to you, Vizzini, I say: "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."

A scenario in which I would willingly hang out with her again of my own free will? Inconceivable!

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