Okay, I know many of you are waiting in anticipation for the next installment of Tammer the Hammer. However, something happened tonight and I need to rant. Since the topic of my rant is perfect for a blog about the first 365 days a marriage (seeing that the majority of my posts are loosely associated with marriage), you can wait on the Tammer the Hammer story.
Tonight, Sean, Megan, Dad and I decided to walk to Anna Maria Pasteria – an excellent Italian restaurant. We had a long day at the Museum of Science and Industry – watching the Dr. Seuss exhibit, watching Sean look intensely at Science, watching Dean scrutinize Science, watching my cousin’s daughter, Penny, go ape-shit with science.
By the time we got home I had a full blown headache – probably brought on by the excess of extra sensory input that the museum provides. But I wasn’t going to let a little headache stop me. NO! To the streets! Italian food awaits.
We’re about two blocks from the restaurant when this younger man- about mid twenties – listening to music on his iPod or iPhone or whatever his white ear buds were connected to – approached us. The ear buds were probably connected to a self-help podcast called, “How To Be An Ass Hole to Strangers and Make No Friends” or “All Married Women are Open Game for Ogling.” Why? Because this little prick turns to Megan as he’s passing and says, “What’s up, baby?” He didn’t say it in a friendly manner – it was lewd and inappropriate. And what was worse is when I turned around he kept looking back at me, laughing.
Sean and my Dad told me to just ignore it – but screw that. I mean, I’m not overly protective of Megan. She’s a strong woman who can take care of herself – it’s one of those reasons I love her to death. But I had to turn around and stare him down. Having Sean there gave me that courage. Having my dad there, though, gave me restraint. I wanted to yell something so bad. Didn’t this skinny little spunk bubble see TAMMER THE HAMMER. He would have been pulp in Sean’s capable hands . . . and then I would have finished him off . . . as he was passed out . . . because I’m a pretty weak guy.
Still, don’t you dare hit on my wife while passing me on the street. Go home to your collection of home made Girls Gone Wild videos you made with your sister and have at it. But keep your comments about my wife to yourself. My Dad kept saying, “He’s probably on drugs.” No, he’s a burn-field bitch who knows exactly what he’s doing.
This guy’s just like the cretin who, when I was 13, confronted me at the dollar movie theater behind the Westwood Mall. I was there with my friends, just hanging out, ready to see some PG-13 flick. Suddenly this white trash aficionado approaches me and says, “Why are you looking at my girlfriend?” What? Seriously, between the millions of neon lights that made this theater look like Tron and my awkward pubescent shyness, I wouldn’t even have known who his white trash mongoloid sister/girlfriend was. “Keep looking at my girlfriend and I’ll kick your fucking ass.” Whoa, cowboy. Listen, I know you wanted to impress your hillbilly debutante but taking her to the “BIG” city of Omaha and treating her to a dollar feature and Long John Silvers, but intimidating a zit infested preteen should not be on that list.
And that’s just it. Both of these guys are men who’ve never had anyone call them out on their asinine behavior. They will always be overgrown bullies who think that societal rules don’t apply to them. They’ll sit in their studio apartments, brooding over their self hatred and then go out into the world and unleash it onto innocent strangers. I had let people walk all over me when I was in high school and Jr. high. By college, I was fed up with it. So when it comes to my wife, don’t ever disrespect her – because I will do anything for her. Even if it means having Tammer the Hammer do my dirty work for me.