To the Girl Who Flung Spaghetti at My Second FUBU Shirt Freshman Year at Mizzou:
I know you still don’t get it. But that’s not surprising. You’re a Jewish gal who celebrates Mardi Gras and Christmas. There’s clearly something missing.
But you still should have known better than to throw food that stains at a black man’s clothes, especially in 1999 with said black man wearing FUBU gear. Don’t you know most of us wanted to be LL Cool J — or at least have women fall at our feet the way they did do him? Throwing spaghetti at my FUBU shirt proved to be the ultimate cock block.
I don’t care that I threw two napkins at you before you flung the pasta sauce at me. This would have been a brilliant idea: THROW A FREAKING NAPKIN BACK! (Yes, I used exclamation.)
You should have kept it at an eye for an eye. But no. You traded an eye for a limb, and temporarily ruined my Carolina blue FUBU in front of 20 co-workers/friends. I boiled over like a stew on an unmonitored stove. I didn’t care that the stains came out in the wash a few hours later (Sprite is good for something). I had to exact revenge. I needed a limb of yours.
So I plotted. I went to Pat’s girlfriend’s room where I found some JELL-O chocolate pudding. I altered my plans that evening to go to a party I knew you were attending. I even called you and asked you to save me a dance. But I had an ulterior mission: plastering Bill Cosby’s second favorite dessert on your back once I wrapped my arms around you.
That night, I followed through on my devious scheme. I put the pudding in my hand (which was protected by a small Ziploc bag. I wasn’t getting my hand dirty for you) and signaled you toward me. We danced a minute away before I smeared chocolate goo all over your back with most of the party watching (they knew what was coming. I had a big mouth). You were wearing a white shirt, remember. Your back looked like someone had taken a ginormous dump on it.
I walked away laughing hysterically. Revenge had never felt more amazing. You stormed into the kitchen and cursed me out. But I didn’t take in a word you said because I was busy laughing so hard that tears were falling.
But after that night, things changed. The friendship that we built soured. You never really forgave me. And aside from the minor annoyances that you brought to my life, I sorta missed you. I knew revenge wasn’t the answer to the rage you provoked by desecrating all that was my Carolina blue FUBU.
I should have been bigger than I was. For that, I apologize. I eventually learned, after a few similar incidents, that vengeance begets self-hate. And anyone who thinks it is the appropriate solution needs a shrink, a jail cell and/or Xanax (note: anyone does not include batcrazy chimpanzees).
I wish I could have stepped back, surveyed the situation and realized the best thing to do was to leave you alone, with or without your apology. I shouldn’t have embarrassed you the way I did. Again, I’m sorry.
But you deserved some retaliation. The shirt was made For Us By Us, not meant for use as your spaghetti’s playground.
P.S. Yes, I still have the shirt. No, I will not wear it out of my house.