Did You Find Those Insults in a 1953 Yearbook?
The other day I was called an “old hag.”
Not to be outdone, I was also called a “broad.”
A broad.
Did someone dust off an old copy of How to Insult Women Before Color Television?
Be honest. Did these insults come from Mimi’s yearbook?
Because I have questions.
First of all, if you’re going to insult me, at least update the material.
Call me the reason wine comes in bottles.
Call me someone who asks ChatGPT before making life decisions.
Call me one bad day away from buying a goat.
Call me a crazy lady with a glue gun.
Hell, call me all of those things.
But “old hag” and “broad”? I have readers in every room and even I think those insults are old. 1953 is calling and they want their insults back
I don’t know.
Give me something from this century.
“Broad” sounds like something a guy named Frank would yell while smoking a Lucky Strike and adjusting his suspenders.
And “old hag”?
Please.
I’ve been called worse by my GPS.
The whole thing got me thinking about how some people never update their software.
They still run their lives on the emotional equivalent of Windows 95.
The insults are old.
The grudges are old.
The excuses are old.
Even the child support complaints feel old.
“We’re talking about $25 a week.”
Twenty-five dollars.
I spend more than that accidentally at the Dollar Tree trying to buy glue sticks for my glue gun.
Twenty-five dollars isn’t child support anymore. It’s what Starbucks charges for a coffee and a cake pop.
Actually, that’s probably not fair.
A Starbucks coffee provides more support.
Maybe that’s why the whole thing feels like it belongs in the same era as “old hag” and “broad.”
Back when gas was 25 cents a gallon.
Back when people smoked in hospitals.
Back when doctors prescribed cigarettes for stress.
Back when “parenting” apparently meant occasionally remembering your child’s clothing size (and stopped buying clothes 4 sizes too big).
The irony is that people who use insults like that genuinely think they’ve landed a devastating blow.
Meanwhile, the recipient is standing there thinking (laughing & writing a stand up comedy routine):
“Did I just get attacked by a time traveler?”
I half expected the next insult to be:
“Why, you floozy!” Or: “Listen here, wise guy!” Or: “You’ll be hearing from my switchboard operator!”
At some point, the insult becomes so outdated it circles back around and becomes funny.
That’s where “broad” lives.
Nobody hears “broad” and feels wounded.
They hear “broad” and picture black-and-white television.
They hear “broad” and suddenly jazz music starts playing.
They hear “broad” and instinctively wonder if ration books are still valid.
I hear “broad” and think, “That’s exactly the kind of language we’d expect at a Gatsby-themed wedding.” At least somebody understood the assignment. The difference is everyone invited, actually likes me.
Honestly, if you’re trying to hurt my feelings, you’re going to have to do better than language that qualified for Medicare twenty years ago. More importantly, you’re going to have to be someone whose opinion I value & carries weight with me.
At this point, the insults aren’t offensive.
