Today I Wore My 2008 Support Obama T-Shirt in Public
I woke up pretty late this morning, having stayed up the night before doing online tweety-FB-bloggy-update-y stuffs. I have GOT to quit doing that! Waiting till the last minute means nights where I stay up until way past midnight. *ugh*
Rough day ahead…
So when I finally dragged my ass out of bed, I was feeling fairly morose. Got into a very heated argument with my bestest friend (never fun), didn’t accomplish everything on my TO-DO list from the day before, and I’d already gotten up too late to go for a jog on the treadmill if I had any hope of catching up. Plus laundry awaited, kitchen needed to be cleaned, garbage collected for trash night… yikes, lots of house and computer crap to jump on!
Go-Go-Gadget… Care Bear Stare!
In an effort to cheer myself up and rally myself into better spirits — ones which produced a GO MODE sort of feeling, as opposed to a pity party — I donned one of my favorite tees, one which I haven’t worn for several months for fear of pissing off the wrong crowd.
I put on…
*le gasp*
… my 2008 Support Obama t-shirt!
This may not sound like a big deal to you, but trust me — in my life, IT’S HUGE!
Why I couldn’t wear my 2008 Support Obama t-shirt to work:
I only wore it once to my previous employment, because I was one of only two Democrats in a building full of white Republicans, and they were not shy about harassing my choice of attire. One time a young lady who no longer works there told me I looked like shit, my face was too greasy, and my hair looked like a mop. She was right — I did look really terrible that day — but to think someone would say those things to me just set me to tears. I can be pretty brash, admittedly, but I would never blurt out, “You look like ASS, girlfriend!” That’s just mean.
Why I couldn’t wear my 2008 Support Obama t-shirt around town:
We live in a teensy-weensy VILLAGE (not even big enough to be a town!) called Farmersville. From the Wikipedia page on my little 6-street area of land:
The racial makeup of the village [from the 2010 census] was:
99.18% White
0.20% African American
(I’ve only ever seen ONE black person walking around here)
0.10% Asian
(I’ve never seen a single Asian person walking around here)
and 0.51% from two or more races
(I never seen any other races walking around here)
Hispanic or Latino of any race were 0.51% of the population.
I think my half-Hispanic son and my quarter-Ecuadorian daughter are the two people making up this last small number. I could be wrong, but they are the only two non-whites I’m aware of in this village.
According to City Data, Farmersville is either listed as “below” or “significantly below” the state average in the following areas:
Black race population percentage
Hispanic race population percentage
Foreign-born population percentage
Number of college students
Percentage of population with a bachelor’s degree or higher
Although technically speaking Farmersville is listed as Montgomery County, where Obama narrowly got the vote, we are actually closer to Preble County regarding weather, lifestyle, surrounding area, and racial population — and 65% of that county voted against Obama.
All of these numbers serve to prove that the village of Farmersville is mostly filled with under-educated white people. NOT a place to wear my 2008 Support Obama t-shirt.
But that’s okay.
I only put it on to get myself “in the mood” for action, not to start a war. I got some laundry done — even folded and put away! I got the trash collected and the kitchen mildly sorted. I got caught up on most of my computer-ish items. I was feeling so great about my achievements, I decided to go ahead and start thinking about dinner. Hmmm… spaghetti and sauce — check! But no hamburger.
No worries!
We live right up the road from an adorable little shop called Jerry’s Meat Market. As in, like three houses down. So I decided to get my shoes on, sport my silly shades which everyone else thinks look silly because they’re pink plastic but I don’t care because they make me happy, and get out in the sunshine for a short little walk.
Oh, no. Oh, no-no-no.
Half-way to the store, I realized I was outside. In Farmersville. With my 2008 Support Obama t-shirt on. Which has logos both front and back. I got really scared. I was afraid people might see me and get angry and holler at me from their beat-up truck overloaded with hay. I was scared someone might pull out their ‘coon rifle and shoot at me. I was worried a mob might run me down. I started to panic. I picked up the pace and jogged the last two feet to the shop.
Once inside, I couldn’t concentrate.
I was so dizzy with anxiety, I had to order two gigantic scoops of chocolate ice cream to sooth my frazzled nerves. I managed to remember the hamburger, and then I added a bag of MnMs along with some Coke to my purchase for good measure. Bag in hand, I hightailed it home, hiding the front of my 2008 Support Obama t-shirt behind stuff, and hoping no one could read the back.
Somewhere outside the front door, it occurred to me that I shouldn’t worry over such nonsense. The likelihood of anyone being able to actually READ my 2008 Support Obama t-shirt was about as minimal as the chance of seeing an Asian or a black person strolling around town.
*whew*
I know I’ll sleep much better tonight.
PS –
My husband asked me, “Where’s the saving grace for Farmersville that you promised me when you began this article?” My answer: Oops. There isn’t one. I promise to write a kinder, more forgiving, less politically charged (Support Obama) article on Farmersville in the near future. It’s hard to be a big mind in a small town. I mean village.
PPS –
My husband says I made Farmersville sound like a White Trash Trailer Park. This couldn’t be further from the truth, I assure you. It’s a beautiful, postcard perfect place to live and let your kids run free. It’s really safe and the folks are extremely friendly. I would borrow eggs from all but one of my neighbors (that creepy guy who looks like a crackhead). If I baked, I mean. I don’t bake, so I usually don’t run out of eggs. But you know, if I did. Also, our next-door neighbor saved our life one time. True story. I’ll tell it sometime.
