I made my usual Friday morning grocery store run as I've done since the infestation known as the Chinese Flu.
Today I also had my "Black Lies Matter" glasses on and this is the first visit to Kroger wearing the Darrell "Fuckin Bubba" Wallace lenses that turn ordinary things into systematic racism.
When viewing things through these very special glasses of creating mountains out of pimples, I was shocked that we are allowed to shop for any product these days.
Upon entering my Kroger, I am greeted by the harmless vegetable and fruit area and was struck to see dancing Watermelons who held signs saying, "I'm only a black person's food. Eats me up!".
I brought my long white gloved hands up to my face to mask this overt racist signal. I looked around to see if any black people saw these watermelons. I just knew they'd be all over me accusing me of planting a stereotypical food that would convey my overt racism. I tried to quiet down the watermelons, but then they broke into a rap routine and allowed their baggy pants to fall to expose name brand boxer briefs that afforded me a chance to see almost a full moon of robust watermelon bubble butt pleasure.
I was horrified.
Here I was enticed by a stereotypical melon that was acting in a stereotypical way. I was mesmerized by melon crack.
Thankfully no one was in the fruit area so I quickly sashayed away and headed to the deli department.
Oh, lawdy, I was once again hit by a black stereotyped item that was only meant to convey black people food.
Fried chicken.
And while the watermelons were still dancing to rap music and dropped their drawers, the fried chicken was in eight pieces and the entire plastic container under the heat lamp was gyrating in music from the 1960's - Motown. I couldn't believe my ears.
Once again I was feeling guilty that my white privilege and natural-borne racist tendencies by virtue of my pink skin was now activating these food items and forcing black people into purchasing the items and being subjected to these "dangerous" items.
I adjusted my yellow sun bonnet to cover my eyes and I gracefully stepped aside in silence that also meant I was complicit in being a racist because we all know that unless every white person practices elocution of our guaranteed part of perpetuating black victimhood, we are racists regardless of our heart. I was in shame. I had come to purchase groceries and here I was providing some unassuming Bubba Wallace an opportunity to interpret an ordinary item into a racist intentioned one.
I felt so guilty.
I quickened my pace and elegantly navigated the aisles of the Kroger making sure that the Cream of Wheat had been pulled lest that black chef who was paid $5 for his image be seen by a black child and to, as a result, be damaged for life with her sense of perpetual victimhood. I discovered there were multiple flavors and kinds of Cream of Wheat (who knew?) and that the dark face was smiling at me.
And then Jazz music played.
Oh, my goodness. Here I was, with my white privilege, taking these ordinary objects and turning them into weapons against black people. I didn't wiggle my nose. I didn't initiate the secret white gay privilege double handed finger snap in a noose formation. I was just there in all of my white privilege and I was instantly causing reality to shift back to the days when Democrats used black slaves and then when they lost their property to the vile Abraham Lincoln's successful war, the Democrats invented the KKK to put fear in the hearts of black folk. And just remember the noose became a black hanging device because of Democrats and the KKK.
Somehow I stumbled out of the line of sight of the Cream of Wheat and I was assaulted by Mrs. Butterworth and Aunt Jemima who became full sized and were shape shifting movement across the floor (dragging their big asses across the polished concrete floor). Oh my goodness, I must really be the cause of racism against blacks! All I was doing was breathing while white and I was causing black victimhood! And to think that my own projection of black "hatred" was causing these black icons to be filled with FAKE SYRUP and not the GOOD STUFF!
Oh, my. I am evil!
I took whatever dignity I had left and I dashed to the front door of the Kroger without making a purchase. While making sure my sun bonnet didn't fly off my head and turn a black child into a slave as a result, I finally made it to the exit and into the summer heat.
And there in front of me was a field of cotton filled with shirtless black mens with muscles bending over to show their black bubble butts.
Reality hit and I quickly realized that it was only a smashed watermelon on the sidewalk before me that was being scooped up by some unsuspecting blond-haired six year old girl.
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