My husband and I were just watching an episode of Will and Grace where Grace and another woman got into a real knock down, face slapping, hair pulling, clothes ripping fight.
Just watching it made my adrenalin flow just a little bit faster, the old ticker beat a little bit quicker, and the mouth become just a little bit drier as it took me back to a couple of episodes of my inglorious and not so lady like youth. Now I am not talking about sibling rivalry where sisters and brothers often scratch, bite, and squeal with fingers pointing until the AUTHORITY FIGURE intervenes.
I am referring to a noon hour girl fight with someone two years older than myself. We literally slapped and scratched, pushed and shoved our way down the aisle between the rows of desks in our country school, under the hushed silence of pupils from Grade 1 to 8 observing every blow and pulled out strand of hair fall limply to the painted hardwood floor . I am not even sure why the fight started -- probably over a missing eraser. Erasers were important in those days. I am almost certain that I won.
I am also talking of a couple of old fashioned 'teacher turning a blind eye' school ground scraps that ended up in skin being forever felt under one's fingernails whenever the memory resurfaces (even after 45 years). I am talking about the creepy feel of some body's greasy Brel Cream on your hands after giving the hair on their head such a jerk that it pulled all the curl out of it for at least the next two days.
That person never stole another comic book from me although about a year later he had to be tuned in during a noon hour volleyball game during Junior High.
After I gave and received a few well landed blows, and having my blouse ripped just a little (odd that I remember that blouse exactly), my rage was assuaged as the Big Grade 12 boys who witnessed the whole scene escorted him into the boys' washroom for a 'talk'.
Only a few bruises, which faded, and an unfortunate nickname, which didn't, were the result.
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