Pot a 'cuss' kettle
THERE is an unwritten law that allows entities of like persona to poke fun at each other, but calls down hell and damnation upon anyone outside of the group who does.
The group most famous for this is Blacks.
As black people we can class each other with the most derogatory names: blackey, niggah etc, but heaven forbid a white person or an Asian ever let it slip, every human rights group is called in and a government enquiry led by an overseas consultant has to be commissioned to analyse the deep-seated racial issues behind the statement.
Here in Jamaica we don't have a colour issue as much as we have a shade issue. Which is so funny to me, since 'brownings', who are so highly revered on our shores are considered black in other parts of the world, but that's a whole other Friday story. But getting back to the issue at hand, the same is true for homosexuals who for the most part can call each other names that persons who are not gay dare not to whisper, not even behind closed doors to themselves, for fear of trampling on some human rights issue and being labeled intolerant.
This bias extends beyond race and sexual orientation and the reason I'm highlighting it is because I recently overheard two heavyweights (that's my term for obese people) both tipping the scale at about 300lbs, poking fun at another "champion" who happened to be going about her business in Half-Way-Tree. Now let me hasten to qualify, that thanks to the steroid Prednisone, which I'm forced to take to clear up my skin breakouts, and the swelling which ensues from consuming it, I am now a member of the big and hefty group, so I can poke fun at my own kind.
I do not want to see any rights and sensitivity mail arising from this article. Why do you think I took the time to ramble on in my preamble? Good!
So, Chunky Mama No 1 was chuckling from deep within her many folds (the way only us fatties can chuckle), about the fact that the mampy rolling by had on a pair of tights that made her look like a disco ball because it was so shiny. It was a fair statement, since the disco ball was as big as a half side of a house for rent with separate kitchen and bathroom. I was amused they even made tights in that size and still referred to it as tights.
Chunky Mama No. 2 giggled so hard at the story that I was afraid fat would ooze from her and cause traffic congestion in the square. This fortunately did not happen, but what did happened was, a taxi driver, in true taximan-fashion decided to be a comedian and remarked "I hope both of you travelling separately because no taxi can't carry oonu together, di front would a lift up". Well I exited Half-Way Tree on that note because the two women stepped up to the taximan with a speed and agility not commonly associated with persons of their stature and I swear I could see one of them remove a swatch of fat from her waist to use as a weapon.
Life is so weird like that.