It was a typical day in the McKinney-Oates household. Mark was on his laptop. I was wrestling with my Snuggie. Omi had gotten trapped in a cupboard. And Nala sat at directly across from me. Glaring.
“Check out your cat, Dude,” I said nodding my head towards Sourpuss, “He is pissed about something.”
“What’s wrong, Little Buddy?” Mark asked in his I’m-gay-and-talk-to-my-cat-like-it’s-a-baby voice.
We waited for an answer, but all we got was more staring. Staring that we eventually realized was directed straight. at. me.
“I think he’s mad at you,” Mark announced with a degree of sadness that let me know if he was ever forced to choose between me and the cat… well, let’s just say I’d be sleeping in Shelly’s guest bedroom.
“What’s your problem, Little Punk?” I asked in my the-only-creature-I-will-confront-is-a-cat voice, “Why you mean muggin’ me?”
“Mean mugging?” my very white husband chuckled, “What is mean mugging?”
What is mean mugging? Was he serious?
“Are you serious?”
Mark nodded, still waiting for a definition.
All of a sudden it hit me. I was the cool one in the relationship. The one with street cred. I was gangsta. I was hip.
Sure, “mean mugging” probably hasn’t been in use since 2001. Who am I kidding? I haven’t learned any new slang since high school. And I’m about as “gangsta” as Urkel. But do you think this was really going to stop me from promoting myself as the Hip Hop Extraordinaire of the McKinney-Oates household?
“Mean muggin’? Dawg! You have gots to be trippin’! Mean muggin is when yo cat be lookin’ at me ugly! You gonna step to me, Cat? Bring it.”
Ok. I didn’t really say that. To be completely honest, it took me 15 minutes and the Urban Dictionary to decide on the proper use of “step”.
I really said,
“Um, I think mean mugging is when you give someone dirty looks. Mean is, you know, not nice. And mug is your face… maybe that’s derived from the “mugshot”? I’m not really sure. Naturally, put together it would translate to a “not nice face”, which is what Nala is displaying now.”
“Mean mugging,” Mark repeated happily to himself, “I like it.”
That’s right you like it. Because I’m da truth. And you my bee-yotch.