Now that I’m LESS THAN ONE DAY from moving out of the ghetto, I feel that it’s time to ask a question of my current neighbors. The subject of this question has followed me from one shitty neighborhood to the next, and I was reminded of it once again last night, as I stood next to the dumpster in my alley wearing a tie-dyed t-shirt full of holes and a hair clip.
Young Men of the Ghetto, what’s with the “Mama” thing? Like, why do you refer to women who interested you as “Mama” or “L’il Mama,” or, for the more succinct gentleman, “L’il Ma”?
I should point out that this summoning of a lady’s attention was not directed at me. I mean, for serious. I was honestly wearing a tie-dyed t-shirt full of holes and a hair clip, and my jeans were unevenly rolled atop my feet, clad in naught but a pair of flip-flops and some broke-ass chipped toenail polish. I was also, as I stated, standing next to a dumpster, and I hope that some of you are not so stunningly beautiful that you can’t possibly understand how standing next to a dumpster might make an individual marginally less attractive.
No, the “Mama” directive was intended for two young women walking east along the alley, and was spoken by two young men walking west. The young women were strangers to the young men, who, lacking the young women’s proper names, referred to one as “Ay, You in the Green!” and “Ay Ay, Mama in Red!”
To their credit, the young women didn’t stay to have a conversation. It was about 9:00 at night and dark out, and like I said, I live in the ghetto. If you want to remain un-pregnant and/or un-assaulted, you can just walk the fuck on at that time of night if some weirdo says your name (or some version of it, anyway). The young women continued walking, with the “Mama in Red” shouting back her answers to the men’s questions.
“L’il Mama, how old is you?”
“Ay Mama, where’s your man?”
“A’ight L’il Ma, I see you.”
This young man didn’t seem too upset about striking out, which makes me think that he wasn’t so much interested in those women specifically, but was more excited about being a little loud in the presence of boobies, which is one way to get someone to notice you if you’re not very bright. I understand that part. The thing about acting out for attention. I haven’t done it since the 6th grade when I didn’t know any better, but I understand the motivation. What I don’t get is the “Mama” part, so on behalf of women everywhere, I’d like to ask…
Sirs, are you attracted to my potential for fertility? Is the thought of my probably healthy womb an irresistible aphrodisiac to you? Do you see me in public, fully clothed and behaving in a generally un-enticing manner, and become excited about the prospect of impregnating me, thus locating a vehicle for the continuation of your particular genetic code on this planet? Is “Mama” the very measure of my worth as a woman? Do you have a pregnancy fetish? What is it about my capability to nurture and expel life that is so fascinating to you?
Maybe I’m reading too much into this, but I have a far greater understanding of names like “Hot Stuff” or “Sweet Ass” or, god help us, “Ma’am, I Would Really Like to Have a Crack At Your Vagina.” You know, something more explanatory of a man’s intentions when he catcalls a woman on the street.
This is not to say that I don’t have a filthy mind full of disgusting, degrading thoughts. While rummaging through boxes in the basement today, I found a piece of paper with three notes in my own handwriting. I don’t remember writing these and I hope to god I didn’t steal them, because for real, they’re fucking brilliant. The last one makes me think the notes were created when I was going to trivia with Dave, as it was considered the height of humor to make fun of Trivia Guy’s mom:
Note #1: My dick is so big, I would wear it as a tie if I wasn’t so afraid of getting a hard on and killing myself.
Note #2: My dick is so big, clowns climb out of it when I cum.
Note #3: Trivia Guy’s mom is the Walrus. Koo koo ga joob.
Heh. Man. Good times. No wonder nobody wants to take a crack at my vagina.