The Mutha Fudruckers were a philanthropic group this weekend. On Friday night I went to a cancer benefit, which, was actually to raise money to cure cancer. It was held at El Scorpion, a local bar usually known as the only place in Wilmington to hear live Mexican bands on a weekly basis. $1 from every $3 glass of wine they sold went to the cause, so against my better judgement I drank white wine all night, which I promptly blamed for my poor performance at the pool table. Also, there was what I am sure was a vomit stain on the felt, which also played a part in my defeat. When no one claimed one of the prizes in the raffle, I thought it was hilarious to call across the room, “Julie! You won!” She had not won.
On Sunday I participated in the Crop Walk, an event to raise awareness of and money for world hunger. Ernie and I were standing with our team, waiting for the walk to start, when a lady walked past us with her dog. Her dog, dressed as an angel, stopped to sniff noses with Ernie. The lady looked down, pulled her dog away, and looked at me.
“That dog looks mean,” she said, and walked away. She didn’t say it in a nice, “Oh, your dog looks tough but is obviously a sweetheart,” kind of way. She said it in a “I don’t think your dog should even be alive, let alone allowed out in public,” kind of way. My immediate reaction was to tell her that she looked like a bitch, but I thought that it wouldn’t be in keeping with the spirit of the day, so I held my tongue. I know I should have a thicker skin about this stuff by now, but it pisses me off every time.
So I steamed about it for the 5 miles of the walk, and by the time we got to the finish I had made my peace with it. A piece of pizza and a Chik-fil-a coupon later, and I had all but forgotten the incident. I turned to my friend and inquired whether or not it would be funny if I ran through the “Stop World Hunger” banner like it was the finish line.
“Yeah,” he said. “About as funny as when you told Julie she won the raffle the other night.”