I was having lunch with The Mick a number of years ago, right after I joined Capital City Derby Dolls as fresh meat. We were having our usual discussions about what we had each been up to in the time since we had last chatted when he turned to me and said “so how is that league of unwed mothers you belong to?”
I choked and sputtered and turned to look at him, my face red hot, ready to chew him out for his ignorance, when he got a glint in his eye and said “what, did I say something funny?”.
As I’m neither unwed, nor a mother, he was clearly just trying to push my buttons. He gets great joy out of making others frazzled, and he clearly values the ability to stay calm under pressure. It’s the Salesman in him, the businessman, the negotiator. Never let them see you sweat.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. This comment came from the same man who insisted that I have a death wish for taking up roller skating at my advanced age. When I ask him if he would come watch a bout, he responded “Lisha, I don’t want to see you fall. From grace or otherwise”.
It left me thinking about all of the different derby fallacies I’ve encountered so far:
“So, like, do you girls punch each other?”
“Are you all lesbians?”
“Is everyone as big/small/tough/happy/mean as you?”
I’m seeing The Mick this weekend. I wonder what he’s got in store for me this time.