It’s So Cleansing

Am I the only woman in New York who enjoys a good “Fuck you” exchange every once in a while?

I find the frequency of necessary cleansing to be approximately once every couple months. That’s when I feel the sudden welling up of two words—they come abruptly and with force: “Fuck you!” I shout. And a tidy “Fuck you!” comes back to me.

I don’t mean to imply that I shout “Fuck you” with no reason. Usually the reason is asshole-driver related.

Tonight it was a grand gesture at a car that nearly ran me down. The words followed on the gracious heels of my pseudo-Italian arm gesture that was meant to convey, “Sir, you nearly ran me down with your car, so FUCK YOU.” But either way, the words decided to follow the movement; I really had no say in the matter. It erupted quietly though, more like, “Fuck yu.”

A hearty “Fuck you!” rang back from a man with a slight European accent so that it sounded more like “Fock you!”

What I find really ultimately satisfying about these explicit verbal exchanges is the swift force with which they occur, and the suddenness with which they end. The man drives away, something has been released into the night air. Something that carries itself off into the dark sky, dissipating as it goes.