Sons of wife-beaters tend to go one of two ways.
- They pay it forward.
- They go the other way, becoming ultra-protective of women.
No, my own battle has been with not letting sensible protectiveness vault into over-protectiveness. Sensible: buying her a deadbolt. Over-protective: pacing anxiously when she's an hour late, then retracing her probable route to look for her wrecked car.
Invariably, I think more about a given woman's safety than she does. I don't articulate most of these thoughts, but they're there. She's going downtown? With Carol? At 11pm? On a Friday? Walking from the ferry to Capitol Hill and back? Carol is a wisp. She'll not only offer no protection, she'll make them more of a target. Maybe I should go along and walk them there and back. No, that will just seem controlling or something. But how can I mitigate the risk? Maybe if I give them cab fare. Then they can just go from one public place to another. Yeah, that's good. But then there's the cabbie. How do I know he's trustworthy? Maybe if I give her cab fare and some mace—
"So John, would you like me to check in so you don't do your worrying thing?"
"I really love you."
This isn't restricted to girlfriends. I'll walk a complete stranger to her car, then scold her for letting a complete stranger walk her to her car. And nothing inflames me like a guy physically menacing a woman. The last time I got punched in the face, last October, was just such an incident. Totally worth it.
Which brings us to Sarah. I didn't have to observe her latest workplace for long to be alarmed by the drunken reprobates whom she serves. The one who licked her neck guaranfuckingteed my next purchase: her Tazer. Laser sighted. With a guarantee that if she has to use it, she can drop it and run and they'll issue her a replacement. And of all the women I've known, she's the one I know will, if it must be used, hesitate least.
Which may well make her my favorite.