Bleachy-Haired Honky Bitch

Insofar as I am the whitest girl who ever lived -- I mean, seriously, have you ever seen me try to dance? I make Elaine Benes look like a winner of "Dancing with the Stars," for the love of God -- I don't have occasion to encounter much first-person racism. Sexism? Sure. Blonde-bashing? You betcha. Fat phobia? Hell yeah. I myself am an intellectual elitist and something of a classist, unfortunately.

But racism? Not exactly something that usually happens to me.

Look, I know that even in this President-Obama-"post-racial" world (yes, that's sarcasm), things are still really bad for a lot of people. The President included. I can't imagine how infuriating it must be to have to work every day with a bunch of big-mouthed Botoxed orange-skinned jagoffs who think you are unfit to join their country club. And those are the Senators from your own party.

I am not ignorant of racism. I know it exists. I think it sucks, and I do everything I can to keep it from infiltrating my home and my family, like a plague of locusts or bedbugs. There are words that we just don't use in our house. We try as much as possible to expose our daughter to all different kinds of people through the T.V. shows she watches -- Kai-Lan, Little Bill, Dora, the Little Einsteins, the Fabulous Beekman Boys.

We are making a concerted effort to teach Shae as much as we can about whatever she wants to know. School helps -- there are kids in her class from all different kinds of cultures and families and backgrounds. When they celebrated "International Week" at summer camp, she loved coming home and telling us about the Chinese, Mexican, Indian foods that she ate. Her palate is more adventurous than mine. Her mind is more open. We are very proud of her for this. We are raising an engaged, interested, interesting Citizen of the World.

So you can imagine my shock and horror this morning, when I went to vote, and one of the election workers asked me if my husband is illegal -- FOR REAL, you just can't make this shit up -- and I couldn't think of a goddamn thing to say in reply.

Why would she say something like that to me? Because my last name is Latino? Because my daughter, she who is almost the literal embodiment of the figurative melting pot, has darker skin than I do? Because I'm a registered Democrat? Because I drive a Volkswagen that was made in Mexico? Because my kid was wearing her Dora the Explorer Crocs? Because ... because why? Why would anybody say that?

And why does it matter to her? And so what if I am? Last I checked, it wasn't against the law for a U.S. citizen to be married to an illegal immigrant.

Alas, I am as usual too late to come up with a witty riposte. I did report that lady's sorry ass to the County Board of Elections -- they no doubt have me on the "hysterical liberal moonbat terrorist watch list," which is why my calls always go to voice mail, but as is generally the case, I could not give a shit -- but what I should have said was this:

MIND YOUR DAMN BUSINESS, YOU IGNORANT FOOL.

She messed with the wrong bleachy-haired honky bitch this morning. This thing, I will fight.