Just so you know, I fought a lot growing up. I mean face scratching, punching, kicking, slapping, rip the clothes off your back fighting. (I never pulled hair but had an insane amount of my hair pulled out in various fights.) But none of them is anywhere near as embarrassing as what I'm about to share with you.
So back when I was dating Da Man, who would later become Da husband, we went out with a bunch of friends to a bar/nightclub. Da Man took his usual position by the bar while my girlfriends and I took to the dance floor. As I was dancing, a man walked by and grabbed my arm and copped a cheap feel of my left breast. Now I'm not what you call a particularly well endowed type of girl. And I'm pretty sure my left side is actually smaller than my right. So it isn't that easy to accidentally feel me up. If a guy wants to cop a feel, there needs to be some intent, if you know what I mean. So the raging feminist in me lost her mind and in crazy, self-righteous anger, began to punch the guy as hard as she could, and as many times as she could, knocking him down, and making him let go of her. Da Man reckons I hit that guy at least 10 times before he hit the ground.
Insane Girl - 0 vs Drunken Fool - 1000 sympathy points
To this day, I don't think I've ever seen so many frightened men with gaping jaws staring at me. If my head had spun around and I had spewed green vomit, I don't think they would have been half as scared of me. And I'm pretty sure the only person laughing was Da Man. I distinctly remember him telling the drunken fool's friends not to mind me as I was from Brooklyn. To which one responded, "let's get the hell away from The Brooklyn Girl." And that's how I got my nickname.
Now that I've thoroughly embarrassed myself, I leave the floor to our newest member, Mindy McGinnis who will be posting her inaugural truth or dare on Tuesday, March 27th! Until then, hope you all have a wonderful, non-violent weekend!