I’m walking back from picking up lunch (which was actually breakfast, but that’s a story for another time) when I hear this women hollering, “Hey! HEY! HEY! You, go get her attention!”
And of course, I am Stephanie’s latent paranoia.
I hear footsteps.
At this point, I would like it to be known that I AM NOT racist. Just tellin’ it how it is.
I keep walking, thinking how thankful I am that I didn’t pack my purse.
walking walking walking
“scuze me miss?”
Meanwhile, I’m thinking “fuckin’ hobos…”
“Miss, scuze me.”
I turn around with The [soon to be] Patented Look of Death. “Yes?!”
“Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Meanwhile, I’m thinking, “fuckin’ Scientologists!”, but nicely mention, “Sorry, on my way back to the office!”, and smile and increase the pace.
“Well, I can walk and talk to you.”
“I’m in a rush… gotta get back…”
“What’s your name?”
“Britney.” (ah, the infamous go to name)
“I’m Remy. You got a man?”
Great, now I’m thinking, “Heaven help me if he asks my rate…”, but answer, “Yes. Yes I do.”
“Oh.” he says, pouting. “I see. Jus’ wanted to tell you that you’re looking fine.”
At this point, I’d like to point out that I have not one, but two monstrous blemishes on my chin, I’m in a heather/purple polo and a pair of jeans that are just a bit too loose. I am wearing my glasses today and my hair isn’t keeping a part. My eyeshadow has loosened over my lower eyes, pronouncing my bags. Let’s stop there and say that I know I do not look fine today.
“Why thank you! That’s very flattering!”
“Flattering?! Shit, I ain’t heard that expression in a long time!”
“You must be married.”
“That I am.”
“Yeah, only married chicks use words like ‘flattering’.”
“So can I call you sometime?”
“No. Thanks though.”
“Can I give you my number?”
“Aw. Gee. You know what, I don’t have anything to write on…” I’m still walking, BTW.
“How ’bout I give you my digits and you can hit me up and we can go out sometime, you know, as friends, out of respect to your man.”
“Yeah, see, I have nothing to write on and I can’t really take personal numbers on my work phone.”
“Well, here, I got a pen, I’ll write it on the bottom part of my bonus check here…”
“Aw. well, gee. Um…”
As I commented on Facebook, “I didn’t realize my ass looked THAT big in these jeans.”