Phoenix moms do it best

November 16, 2007

by KC Ifeanyi

This past summer, I packed up my worldly goods and my journalistic integrity and headed west toward Phoenix, Ariz., to intern at Moving Pictures Magazine. I could go on about what a great experience it was getting practical training in the journalism field.

I could talk about “finding myself” while driving 19 plus hours through the arid desert wastelands (also known as West Texas).

However, I have a far more interesting tale to tell.

To the immense relief of everyone in my apartment complex, there were community pools situated throughout that allowed residents to escape the broiling, 120 degree Phoenix heat.

No more than 15 feet from my window, I would constantly hear squeals of delight from poolside patrons and the rapid slapping sound of wet feet hitting concrete.

On one fine Phoenix Sunday morning, I opted to work from home, and thank God I did.

I was proofing some pages for the magazine’s summer issue, and as usual, my background noise consisted of cannonball splashes, radio music and boisterous laughter.

While in the process of revising a sentence in dire need of editing, I heard the din of mirth outside my window suddenly morph into shrieks of terror.

Thinking some tragedy had occurred, I rushed to the window, opened the blinds and instantly located the source of distress. No one had drowned and no one passed out from heatstroke.

Kids were screaming bloody murder because two parents were on the brink of a fistfight.

Now, I’m the kind of guy who would usually shy away from any sort of drama, but this was an entirely different situation. First of all, the two parents were women and let me just say right here and now that catfights are simply awe-inspiring.

Secondly, these women weren’t your average soccer moms. These maternal warriors, both of considerable girth, chose to confront each other in spandex wind shorts and over-sized T-shirts that still seemed to hug every lump and curve.

Before I could completely process the phenomenal scene in front of me, mere smack talking instantly escalated into a full-blown brawl.

It was epic.

Fists flew, legs kicked, children screamed and I cheered.

Naturally, I took sides and had I placed bets on the altercation’s outcome, I would’ve been a richer man that day.

My pick, Mrs. Spandex, easily overpowered her adversary with well-placed slaps and one hell of a shove that nearly had Mrs. Wind-Shorts swimming instead of scrapping.

Shouts of, “You don’t say that to MY baby,” and, “Well, SHE started it,” were barely audible over screeching kids and my hollers of insuppressible glee and support for my gladiator of choice in stretchy pants.

I think other poolside parents were just as taken aback by the melee as I was because it was a full two minutes before anyone thought of breaking it up.

I know I could’ve written a column about the friends I made in Phoenix or the expanded opportunities the internship afforded me.

However, the only event I care to share is one that left some kids emotionally scarred, two parents with bruised bodies and egos and gave me a ring-side seat to one colossal confrontation that’s sure to go down in the annals of catfight history.