I’ve mentioned before that one of my favorite internet meme images on the internet is the white couple, with the black baby, and there’s a big OWNED in Impact font, pointing at the guy. Sure, that’s a funny image and all, and it’s not so much the racist undertones of it that I find funny as much as it simply is the concept of why the guy is OWNED. It’s irrelevant to whether or not the baby were adopted, or fathered in, or out of wedlock, by obviously a black man, but the fact that he is OWNED, because he is clearly stuck in a situation where he’s raising someone else’s kids. It’s funny in a sad, thank god it’s not me kind of way, and I am amused by it immensely.
This past weekend, I spent worked an emergency weekend shift at the Renaissance Faire. It was not my preference, but it was most certainly a personal solid done for a close friend, and it’s not like I did it for free. But it’s still burning an entire weekend, putting myself in the lowest of worst retail situations, peddling wares to a bunch of cheap rednecks who would rather spend their money on turkey legs, overpriced “ale and wynne,” and unfittingly, samurai swords. Regardless, with the help of Miss Sarah, we tried to make the best of a bad situation, by doing what any snarky retail dreg workers do – judging strangers, and fabricating stories about them. The following series of posts will be a recollection of my weekend at the faire, and the assumed true stories about the people we watched, that made the weekend just a little more bearable.
At a gathering of mutual friends, Mary met Bill. Mary was moderately attractive. Mary also had one too many margaritas, and Bill was more than happy to oblige Mary. Once conscious, sober, and unknowingly pregnant, Mary realized just what a fat fuck of a mistake she had made. After the weeks of initial morning sickness progressed, Mary realized she had a problem. Through the network of mutual friends, Mary managed to get Bill’s contact number, and gave him a call.
“Hello, Bill? It’s me, Mary.”
“Aw shit, Mary? How are ya, sweetheart?”
“Look Bill, I’m just going to cut to the chase. I’m pregnant.”
“Aw shit, darlin’. Are you sure a’hm the daddy?”
“Yes. I haven’t… you know, since then.”
“Aw shit.”
“Yeah. So, I don’t really know what to do next—“
“Aw shit, hon. A’hm a man o’ honor. Let’s get married, and raise this kid together.”
Mary, completely mind-fucked due to hormones and desperation, considers this abrupt proposal. Despite her age, and decent genetic makeup that would likely lead to her being capable of cougaring-up the singles scene post-child, she still comes to the conclusion that she isn’t going to have a chance at marriage at a later time. With tears of false happiness due to hormones, she decides to keep the baby and marry Bill.
At the day of the wedding, Mary noticed two largely rotund kids hanging around Bill after the ceremony. Puzzled, Mary asked Bill about the two children who appeared to be on the same genetic path outcome that Bill was currently at.
“Aw shit, babe. Ah forgot to mention, ah got two kids already—WAYNE! DESIREE! Come meet your new ma! She’s carrying your future baby sister in there!”
OWNED.
