IS IT ME? PART 13Posted: May 6, 2009
As much as this hurts me inside I have come to grips with the fact that I do not look scary at all to strangers. I can have my earphones in bopping to my music with the meanest of faces on a dark New York street and some elderly Caucasian lady will tap me on the shoulder and ask me for directions without hesitation. I want to say “Don’t I look frightening? Why aren’t you concerned that I’ll rob you Miss?”
But I never get it out, and this happens quite often to me. I have been in the middle of conversations, or on the phone on the street and some person that I know I could easily take down and steal all their valuables just trusts in me to lead them on their path the right way. My hoodie and attitude mean nothing to people and that sucks.
I guess that’s why this retarded kid in the park the other day decided he would throw his football at me and it would be cool to initiate an impromptu game of catch with someone he’s never met in his life. This kid had to be about 8 yrs old, his mother was either watching from a distance or sent him over while she hid.
Anyway, here I was 4 minutes into it back and forth looking for an out when it dawned on me that catch is just that…catch. You throw and you catch, that’s it! There isn’t a score, no winner and no clock; the game of catch isn’t a game at all. It has no end and I had no way of finishing this torture other than running away from this excited youngster who might’ve been alone in a park. Then I started thinking maybe this was a prank and I was being filmed, or maybe this was a test from God to see how patient I am or there could be some beautiful, model Mom that wanted to know if I was a good stepfather candidate and this was how she felt out potential partners.
As I was running away I thought about how many times we as humans get caught in moments of discomfort. People go to extreme lengths to not be uncomfortable. However we all find ourselves in situations where we wish we could instantly disappear: A trip up the stairs in the party, not enough money on your debit card, surprise gas release, caught in a turning lane and you don’t want to turn. They are the tiny fractions of time that really aren’t a big deal but we just wish we could push fast forward.
We’re at a BBQ and I don’t remember her name, but she knows mine and we just had a 30-minute conversation about music, basketball and acquaintances we must both know but yet still no bell has rung. I’m texting her description to my boys…no help, handed her my phone when she offered her number to keep in touch but the drink in her hand caused her to say “you just write it in.” And now my friend walks up and I have to introduce her…
“Oh this is my peoples right here…we go waaaaay back, well we had a different name for you back then, what do you go by now?”
But her name was the same as it is now. And I still have a number in my phone under the name “Hey” because I didn’t take the time to remember even after all that but if she ever calls that’s what I’ll say, “hey” and pick up right where we left off.
Even that is not as bad as talking to a woman that has her cleavage exposed and she catches you looking at them. See the thing about cleavage is; well see cleavage is…is sort of like a separate entity or “entitty.” Two pushed together tatas that are halfway smiling at onlookers live and breathe on their own. Once a female with cup size decides to let the girls out then they have eyes and a mouth and they communicate with the public.
You can be saying one thing but your cleavage says the total opposite. If you bring cleavage to open school night to talk to your kid’s teachers then they are having a different conversation than the one you’re having. While you’re talking about your rugrats, the male teacher is asking if you’re a single mom, your breasts are saying “kind of but it’s complicated,” he’s asking them for details, next thing you know your kid is doing much better in school, is receiving awards and special attention and hasn’t learned a damn thing.
However your mammaries have changed the world, your double D’s have given birth to straight A’s! So with that said, you know what you’re doing Miss, don’t expect me to focus on your words if you wanted to have titty talk. I can’t focus that damn well. Just say what’s on your mind and their mind or just let me look at them and say hello.
I’m saying all this to say, cleavage is a beautiful thing except when it’s not. If you’re a married man and your wife’s homie’s low cut dress has you diverting your eyes to the floor every second then who’s to blame for this madness? Not you sir. The uncomfy moment of getting caught looking at your boy’s fiancée’s rack is your fault? Hell no! They are apparently out for some reason. And even if that reason has nothing to do with you it doesn’t matter. The breasts have a mind of their own I tell you and they have an ego that needs to be fed so as you look at them and she looks at you it doesn’t mean you want to motorboat her or you’re wondering what her areolas look like or if her nipples are small or big; you’ve seen tits before. You’re just being courteous and giving them the look they were asking for. If anything she should say sorry instead of doing the ‘pull up the shirt adjustment’ as if she didn’t know her breasts were speaking to the entire room. That’s why I stopped going to church.