If I could beat the crap out of people, I would. But I can't. I just can't. I'm from New Jersey, but even that doesn't help my case. I simply cannot express feelings of disgust in public. Perfect example: last week I'm at the mall and these kids shove past me, knock my fountain soda out of my hand; it spills all over my shirt. I want to curse them and shove them into a garbage can. But instead I smile and grab napkins from the Chinese Italian eatery.
I said nothing. Nothing. Not because I'm so bony and feared these kids could easily murder me or because I am an intellectual and pity their plebeian ways. It's more than that.
I Am A Lady. 'Ladies,' says my mother and every other female with a pleasant way and pressed pants have taught me, are always Nice. Always. Especially when people are treating them badly. This is called Class.
Yet lately I've been thinking Class is just Stupid.
That's right. The women I most admire these days are not pinnacles of this idea of Class. I do not admire Princess Kate or the First Lady, or even my mother who I am beginning to think purposely behaved timidly in society so she could swirl in a sea of anger in our home; no, I admire the women who beat the crap out of people and always remember to remove their Louboutins first.
With every four-episode marathon of Mob Wives on VH1, I am getting reprogrammed with tenets of womanhood I've searched cable television for my entire life. Gone are the Lifetime movies where I learned that stewing is just what women do. And then we explode and murder our husbands. Gone are the Bravo shows where I learned that we must phase out friends who become more successful than us. I always thought that was just the way things went. Not that I would ever phase out a friend.
Wives of mobsters Take Care of Business. They have 'sit downs' at fancy restaurants and confront one another with "I want to run my car through your f--ing house." Dinner and cocktails ensue. I remember watching my first episode of Mob Wives and thinking Wow. This would never happen on The Real Housewives. An entire season in the OC would be based on "Can you believe she said she wanted to run her car through my house? She didn't say it to me, she said to Vicki, that's what I heard, what a beotch. I guess we should invite her on the trip, though. We're not that mean. We'll just corrupt her mental state. Hey did you lose weight?"
Mob wives may have their husbands in the slammer, their fathers in the slammer, their friends in the hospital because they put them there, but darn it they look great. Flawless makeup, hair perfectly coiffed. Not to mention they cook, they clean and they don't have help -- a completely controlling and martyr-esqe work ethic my mother would respect. And they like fur.
These mob wives are my role models. They work hard. They play hard. Honestly, they probably just go to the gym to relieve stress. I'd be stressed out too if I was a mob wife. I don't think would want to be one though, but maybe then I'd actually go to the gym instead of talking about going to the gym.
Mob Wives. Thanks to these ladies, I'm learning how to be a new kind of woman. An assertive woman. I never thought it was possible for a woman to say, "Are you dumb or just stupid?" to one of her dinner guests, or to be so thin and pretty and grab a friend by the throat at a birthday party. But these women do. And it doesn't look crazy. Not to me. If anything, the absence of "Did I actually..." or "I don't usually..." is refreshing. Instead, it's "I have a temper. She should know better." I'm going to use that one. It's good.
I've learned more, too. I've learned the disadvantages of a chemical peel: never before a party. I've learned the advantages of telling someone how you feel about them: sheer relief. And so the next time I go to the mall and get hosed by some tough looking gangsta beotches, and trepidation seeps into my bones as I picture them murdering me in my sleep, I'll think of Drita, Karen, Renee and Carla. What would they do?
I'm thinking a new kind of Class is in session. So I'll say something. I will. Mark my words. I'll just have to prepare something first.