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Jul. 2nd, 2008 06:02 pmI have been propositioned twice in the past two days, and badly, both times. In fact, the second time barely even COUNTS as a proposition, it was so lame.
The first time, I was across the street fetching potables before heading out to the glorious crossroads of comestibles called "McDonald's", and an urban gentleman was ahead of me. After he bought his whatever-empty-calorie-bodega-item-it-was, he hovered and dithered by the cold drinks freezer. Oh, dear, I thought, I feel bad for the woman behind the counter, I'll try and remember his clothes for identification purposes. I got my change,and as I turned towards the door, the young urban gentleman preceded me and held the door.
"Thank you very much", I said, believing strongly in positive reinforcement.
"You got a man, sweetie?" was his reply. Except it was said so quickly and so quietly that what I actually HEARD was "yugodahmansweedie?" and it took me a few steps to puzzle out what the hell he was actually trying to say into my ear as I swooped past.
There is an excellent chance that I am technically old enough to be his mother. Like whoa. And I wonder what this ring on the third finger of my left hand means? CLEARLY I AM SWEETIELESS! TAKE ME, YOU SMOOTH STRANGER, IN THE ERA OF RAMPANT DISEASE!
The second happened today while waiting for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mzkero outside the office. A very wide urban gentleman, not nearly so young as the first, with one hand glued to his ear via his cell phone but not speaking into it, walked towards me, staring.
So rude, I thought, keeping a sunglass-covered eye on him.
When he was practically brushing me as he passed by, he finally figured out the stunner, the comment guaranteed to make me fall instantly to my knees and start sucking a stranger's cock, the verbal brilliance of "Is, is, is, is, is that yo' real hair?"
I stared at him as he passed by "yessssssssss" I drawled.
And he riposted with "That's LONG!"
I repeated myself in the same drawl.
GOD THEY MAKE ME SO HAWT, how do I attract these prime examples of masculinity? Why does Christian Bale never amble over and compliment my ass? Or Lawrence Fishburne ask to borrow my phone so that he can give me his number? Or George Clooney ask me what time it is? Even Brad Pitt is welcome to saunter by and whisper that I have cute shoes and they'd look best next to his bed. Why is it always the creepy icky guys who think that they can get in your knickers with a poorly thought out and blindingly obvious statement.
Ah well.
The first time, I was across the street fetching potables before heading out to the glorious crossroads of comestibles called "McDonald's", and an urban gentleman was ahead of me. After he bought his whatever-empty-calorie-bodega-item-it-was, he hovered and dithered by the cold drinks freezer. Oh, dear, I thought, I feel bad for the woman behind the counter, I'll try and remember his clothes for identification purposes. I got my change,and as I turned towards the door, the young urban gentleman preceded me and held the door.
"Thank you very much", I said, believing strongly in positive reinforcement.
"You got a man, sweetie?" was his reply. Except it was said so quickly and so quietly that what I actually HEARD was "yugodahmansweedie?" and it took me a few steps to puzzle out what the hell he was actually trying to say into my ear as I swooped past.
There is an excellent chance that I am technically old enough to be his mother. Like whoa. And I wonder what this ring on the third finger of my left hand means? CLEARLY I AM SWEETIELESS! TAKE ME, YOU SMOOTH STRANGER, IN THE ERA OF RAMPANT DISEASE!
The second happened today while waiting for
mzkero outside the office. A very wide urban gentleman, not nearly so young as the first, with one hand glued to his ear via his cell phone but not speaking into it, walked towards me, staring.So rude, I thought, keeping a sunglass-covered eye on him.
When he was practically brushing me as he passed by, he finally figured out the stunner, the comment guaranteed to make me fall instantly to my knees and start sucking a stranger's cock, the verbal brilliance of "Is, is, is, is, is that yo' real hair?"
I stared at him as he passed by "yessssssssss" I drawled.
And he riposted with "That's LONG!"
I repeated myself in the same drawl.
GOD THEY MAKE ME SO HAWT, how do I attract these prime examples of masculinity? Why does Christian Bale never amble over and compliment my ass? Or Lawrence Fishburne ask to borrow my phone so that he can give me his number? Or George Clooney ask me what time it is? Even Brad Pitt is welcome to saunter by and whisper that I have cute shoes and they'd look best next to his bed. Why is it always the creepy icky guys who think that they can get in your knickers with a poorly thought out and blindingly obvious statement.
Ah well.
