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He called dibs on my spit - Just Being Funny

We were originally hyped to see a real Mexican bullfight. I was ready for some Loony Toons level shenanigans. Twenty minutes in, I decided to stop fronting and wear my glasses. My life instantly upgraded to HD vision and I had questions. Who cosigned using the red cloth to hide the stick from the bull? More importantly, who swapped the stick for a big ole sword? Where is PETA? How is everyone so chill watching murder?

Roberto, the Liberace-looking bullfighter -- nay, bully -- was out there stabbing Toro whose painful cries we could hear. After watching this senseless torture for over two hours, I was convicted to honor my recently slain friends. I would carry Ferdinand’s spirit with me by eating him. 

What? Look, everyone wants their death to have a purpose. If your homeboy was senselessly slain wouldn’t you eat him? No? Well, obviously y'all ain't friends.

While I was reverently pourin’ one out for my homie -- by that I mean, drizzling Ferdinand with authentic Mexican steak sauce -- my thoughts were constantly interrupted. Sweden, a fellow ginger-haired travel companion from well, Sweden was yapping on about things I didn’t care for. 

I was there trying to figure out why Mexicans were tolerating these criminally paper-thin steaks. Which had 50% fat, BTW. But I guess that’s the best $2 USD will buy. Do you think that was more like a communion size serving or that really how they like things? See, these is thoughts I didn’t get to think because Sweden was unable to read all this cross-culture body language.

His monologue took a left turn and he goes in on girls and eating disorder. I was all furrow browed trying to find the correlation between the barbaric spectacle and female nutrition. Next thing, Sweden’s sticky fingers swoop in and nab my steak.

Hold up. What?

“Women are so concerned about health and staying slim that they waste food. Eat your steak, don’t waste or worry about your figure.”

How dare he swoop in on my culinary turf and make judgments? You don’t know me nor my relationship with my body. I am out here, in a humid country with natural hair and NO HAIR PRODUCTS. I accept the reality that cheesecake at Starbucks is ONLY 50 pesos and have been keeping a stockpile in my belly. Ain’t nobody worried about their figure.

“You realized that I chewed that and spat it out because there wasn’t anything worth eating, right?”

A sinking feeling. The mistakenly identified abandoned succulent stack of steak trimmings was actually a thoroughly chewed and unjustly murdered sentient being.

He swallowed. Without breaking eye contact, I removed another piece of fat trimming from my mouth and added it to the pile. I guess we gotta get married now.

Let that be a lesson to anyone scouting plates they don’t own. Sometimes trash is just trash and not abandoned treasure. 

Shout out to all my peoples who respect the dibs rules and asks before swooping in. 


What would you do? Tweet me using #JBFxOnicia


Created on St. Maarten. Based in Chicago. Onicia Muller (@OniciaMuller) writes, says funny things, and enjoys hanging with creative minds. Originally published in The Daily Herald's Weekender, Just Being Funny is a weekly reflection where Onicia laughs at life


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