I’m sorry but grown women are not supposed to fight. That’s what the little cousins and nieces are for.
I say that in (sort of) jest but I do have to raise eyebrows when I read stories about women of a certain age, still bringing the ruckus in dank nightclubs. And of course, I’m alluding to TMZ’s story about 42-year old Chrissy Lampkin being arrested yesterday morning for aggravated assault and disorderly conduct after allegedly beating another woman down in a New Jersey bar. According to TMZ, the alleged beat down came after Lampkin got pissed that the alleged victim accidentally bumped into someone – after taking an unauthorized seat on the same lounge sofa they happened to be seated at.
I’m sure (hoping) that there is more to this story. However judging solely based on how Lampkin used to jump off on women, with virtually little provocation, during the first couple of seasons of “Love & Hip Hop: NY,” it is not hard to believe that she probably went a little HAM on the alleged poor girl. And if the reports are true, I have to say that this is a pretty sad situation for Lampkin as well. I don’t know about the rest of you grown women but fist-fighting seems kind of silly, just like a grown woman wearing ponytails and bangs – in the front and in the back.
Personally my need to aggressively compete, or what I swore at the time was my right to self-defense, wore off in my late twenties. The last time I remember it well: My very best friend and I were in the bathroom of well known Philly lounge, when these strange women approached us and asked my best friend if she knew a dude named Darnell? Of course she didn’t and that’s what we told the girl before walking back into the main lounge area. Ten minutes later, our new friends from the bathroom reappeared. This time, they sat on the other end of the couch and stared us down accusingly. We did our best to ignore them, although it was obvious they had no intention of being ignored. The ring leader started in again, “Are you sure don’t know Darnell?” It was a question but it was clear by her tone the answer was irrelevant. Needless to say, we were past the point of annoyance. Our egos were telling us to bait this girl on. After all, she and her corny goon-squad came over here looking for trouble. And ain’t no way, we are going to let them, get the best of us. But what exactly would we feel the need to prove? My best friend and I shared a similar glance. It was one of totally weariness and boredom. We were on the same page. And without even saying a word, my best friend and I got up, left that club and found a less contentious and friendlier place to party.
It might seem punk-ish to some but nowadays, I do my best to avoid fighting. Trust me, it is not out of fear of taking a loss. More so, it is really out of concern of the consequences. Like loss of employment. Or a messed up face and other permanent scaring. Or medical bills, or even being legally responsible for someone else’s medical bills. Or even prison. In short, fighting is for young girls and boys, who don’t have to pay fully for their lifestyles. That is not to say that I haven’t cursed out a deserving person or two – or several. And even through my thirties, I have even been tested to the point where I have threatened to put them paws on ’em. However it never went any farther than that because I just wasn’t going to let someone have control over my emotions like that. And there is just as much power, and winning for that matter, in walking away as there is diving head first into an unnecessary “fight” that does more to harm you than it does to move you forward in life.
Plus, I really do believe that with age and experience comes wisdom. The wisdom to not only get better at picking your battles but also the skill of defense without having to Hulk-smash everything in sight. A nice eye roll and a shady comment for starters. Heck, walk away while theatrically, and publicly, declaring your obliviousness to why you mad. Trust, that bit of humiliation cuts way deeper than a punch ever could. Short of acting out on some of hormonal imbalance, food allegory, diabetic reaction or truly the act of self defense, the act of fighting in the club is just a matter of maturity – or lack thereof.