Of Dogs and Men

True story: For a period in the late-mid early 90s, I worked at a local overpriced gourmet food purveyor which shall go nameless, other than to say it rhymes with Mean & Palooka. In those heady days I was quite a bit less…cuddly, shall we say? It would be disingenuous to say “skinny” for that have I never been. I was in pretty decent shape at the time, but I had not yet the conviction I do now, and was always aggravated with myself for being what black guys call “thick.” Being a white girl, a very, very white girl, I have never been quite sure if this sort of label applies to me or not.

Anyhoo, I was working a shift at the abovementioned expensive hash-slingin’ hut, when I was paid a visit by a relative who I can call stunningly beautiful without any exaggeration whatsoever. Willowy, exotic, not an excess ounce of padding on the girl anywhere. Wanting to introduce her to someone in the office, I hauled her deep into the belly of the beast, right through the dish room, which at the time was occupied by all the Mexican and Central American utility staff eating their spare communal lunch. There was some animated dialogue going on about something en Espanol, and in that split-second before we entered the room I suddenly felt terrible contrition, like I was leading the lamb to slaughter. She was too stunning for them to just let pass by unremarked-upon. I clenched my jaw and waited for the catcalling to commence.

To my surprise, the room went utterly silent. As soon as we got past the knot of them, though, the one I liked the least said something that made the tiled room reverberate with spontaneous male laughter, and general whooping and hollering. Not being bi(lingual), I could only imagine the uncouthness of the remark. Looking protectively back at my gorgeous companion, afraid she would be offended, I observed her expression was instead only slightly annoyed, but more than anything, pleased. And I noted that my own reaction had the green tinge of envy, even toward said beloved family member. I am by nature a ferociously competitive beast, and recognize my own reptilian-brain’s troubling wish to forever be the center of attention, especially male attention. When I am not, my hidden talons come out.

After she left that day, I cornered the amigo who had made the obviously-boorish comment to compel him to offer an apology, for my young relative, and for myself. When I confronted him, he just laughed and told me “No, paloma, it’s an old Spanish saying: “Bone is for the dog. Meat is for the man.” He winked at me and off he went, laughing.

Thank God for Latin men.