I don’t know if he knows what it’s called, but my 70-year-old
dad is growing a
”
soul patch.
”
I don’t know if he knows what it’s called, but my 70-year-old dad is growing a “soul patch.”
This has nothing to do with his dancing ability – though he does a mean soft-shoe tap – or a cushion on some orthopedic shoes. According to a recent Associated Press story, a soul patch is the tuft of hair beneath the lower lip “that seems to fade in an out of fashion every few decades,” (much like my dad’s wardrobe).
I think it’s kind of cool that a 70-year-old retired dude is growing a soul patch. It sounds hip, cool even.
Soul patch is one of the phrases or words recently added to Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary.
My dad does not sport another word that the dictionary added to its pages: “unibrow.” It is so much cooler to sport a soul patch than a unibrow, though I’ve seen some people who are rockin’ both of them.
I’m sure we’ve all worked for or known an “empty suit” (an ineffectual executive) or commented on someone’s “bling” (glitzy jewelry), which are other recent additions to the dictionary.
This week I had an encounter with yet another new Merriam-Webster entry: a “drama queen” (a person given to often excessively emotional performances or reactions).
It was Monday, the day before the Fourth of July, and I was in my neighborhood social club, Nob Hill Foods. As I wrote in this space recently, I always see people I know when I’m at the grocery store. But it was this encounter with a stranger that will certainly become my most memorable trip to the store.
I was patiently waiting in a long line waiting to pay for my food. I wasn’t bothering anybody; I was just reading about how Jessica is moving on from Nick and Angelina is flaunting her newborn baby to irritate Jen and Oprah and Steadman are finally calling it quits.
The cashier lane next to the one in which I was waiting suddenly opened and the cashier – fresh off her break – waved me over since I was next in line. As I politely rolled my way to the register, past the line that was snaking back from another register, a 50-something lady grabbed my arm with a vise grip and pulled me backwards like she was Superman trying to save someone who was dangling off the side of a skyscraper.
“You need to wait because these people have been waiting in line!” she roared as she gave me the death stare while digging her nails into the bend of my arm. Her show of strength was impressive and painful, I must admit, but I didn’t appreciate being man-handled by this woman.
With a mix of shock, anger, and embarrassment, I gave her a look of incredulity (look that one up in the dictionary) and said “she told me to come here” as I pointed at the sympathetic clerk, who backed up my story with an apologetic nod to me.
The drama queen finally loosened her talons and let me proceed to pay for my groceries.
More embarrassed than anything, I didn’t look back at the lady while my groceries were being bagged. But when I got to my car and processed what had just happened, I wanted to be in the moment again and ask the lady why she would resort to physical violence in line at the grocery store.
I wanted to embarrass her. I wanted to go to the pharmacy and buy some Icy Hot for my sore arm. I wanted to crack one of my farm fresh eggs over her head and tell her women weren’t supposed to be growing soul patches. Choosing not to become the drama king to her drama queen, I left the matter alone.
I can only hope she reads this and realizes the error of her ways. And if not, I hope this razor-taloned crow comes down with another recent Merriam-Webster entry: “avian influenza.”
Adam Breen teaches yearbook and journalism at San Benito High School. He is former editor of The Free Lance.
