Let me just take you a few days back when I had that get together at my house. You all saw the embarrassing photos, but what you didn’t see was my trip to the store getting the goods. I thought it was going to be easy—a beer & soda store and a deli that makes homemade Italian goods. Bam! Done.
As soon as I headed out the door, my dear sister Carla and my three year old niece hop into my SUV to take a ride with me. Great. Now I have precious cargo. No problem, I could use some company anyway.
We head off to the store and I rush in like a lunatic looking for a few specific beers so I can cater to everyone with different tastes. This beer and soda place looks like a fricken garage—no lie. I went into the desired aisle and tried to squeeze out a case of Heineken.
“Well well well! You need help with that young lady?” A nice looking man said to me behind the cold glass door that I still had swung open.
“Why do I look that weak?” I asked, joking around with him.
“Well, I’m just offering my services here!”
“Oh, you work here?” I asked, not remembering his face, since this is my stomping ground.
“Naw, I just wanna’ help a lady out here!”
“Awe, thanks, I’m okay though.”
“I didn’t ask if you were okay, I asked if ya needed some help.”
“No. But thank you. Really.”
“Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are—or how nice that hair is on you?”
“No—but thanks!” What---do I have a huge wig on? This hasn’t been the first time someone assumed I had a wig. Two black girls with gorgeous weaves were heckling me on the streets insisting that my hair was a wig. One of the girls pulled my hair hard to check. Yep…it was real alright. It hurt like hell too.
Anyway, I rushed up to the check out counter to purchase my beer. He beats me to it. He starts paying for his beer and tells the guy to put my habit on his tab.
“No no no! Please don’t.” The check out boy realizes my horror, and totally respects what I said. He doesn’t let the man pay for my beer.
“You know, I’m the cobbler around this area.”
"You know, the shoe maker. I repair all the shoes around this side of town and make custom shoes.”
Now this guy is telling me I either walk with a limp and I need a shoe that’ll fix that, or he’s telling me I’m way too short and I need some lifts. I can’t make this guy out for nothing.
“Ah man, I can’t walk outa’ here not giving this girl my phone number, can I have a pen please?” He asks the check out boy. The boy gives me this look like, 'Run Forest, Run!!!'
“I have a jacuzzi at home that fits seven and I’m gonna be watchin’ the Yankee's game. Why don’t you come over!”
Not only did he insult my height, he told me I needed to be seated for seven. Great.
“Oh, no, I’m okay…thank you for offering though.”
“I know yer okay, but do ya wanna come over?”
“No. Thank you. I have friends coming to my house later.”
“Bring em’ all!”
“Thank you…Have a nice evening…” I said as I left quickly to get back to my sister and my niece who were both sitting in my back seat. I went to the back of my SUV to place the cold beer down. Then I saw ‘the cobbler’ walking over to my truck.
“Hi Bob!” My sister yells out to the cobbler. I was baffled. Did she sit in that hot tub for seven? Or does she secretly have lifts?
“Hiya Carla! How are ya?”
Oh. my. Gawd! It’s like a family reunion. I needed to get out of there before he starts asking all of us to bask in his hot tub for seven.
“You’re all welcome to come on by later! I’ll be watching the Yankee's game!”
You know something, even if I was interested in this man, the thought of plopping myself in a hot tub while he watched the game pigging out on pizza would totally turn me off. Is it me—or does this guy need a new pick up line? Not only is the word "jaccuzi" the tackiest way to call a hot tub, but his whole approach was off.
He leaves, and I head back to the front of the truck to get in.
“Allo!” I hear, coming from behind me. It was a huge caravan parked there. I looked, and it was a Hasidic man staring at me with this weird pedophile-like smile.
“Hello.” I said, baffled over a greeting by a Hasidic man. They never greet a strange woman. (Well not to my knowledge.) I mean, yes I'm strange, but...that's a whole nutha' story. I look over again, and he’s still sitting there in his hotrod caravan waving to me as he smiled from ear-to-ear. It was getting creepy, but I was morbidly fascinated that someone from his culture would pursue this.
I hop into my truck and the window is still half way opened. Before I pulled out, I had to give this guy one more look. I just couldn’t help myself.
“Allo!!!” He kept saying, waving frantically trying to get my attention. This was all too strange; almost like a weird dream before waking up thinking, ‘God that was strange!’
Now, just out of curiosity, I wonder what men really think right before they approach a woman. Do they think of their pick up line? Do they have it already planned out? Do they think before speaking?
For my male readers—what is ‘your style’ when you approach a woman that is not in a bar. It’s not like you can buy her a drink or anything or ‘put it on your tab’… What if you see a woman you would like to meet on the street-- (and no—not the hookers fellas.) What’s your move like?
And for my female readers—what do you do when some guy walks up to you randomly asking you out—especially if he asked you to go in his seven seated jaccuzi?
There's really nothing you can say when somebody loses their favorite person in the world to a horrible disease. Some say, the worst k...
The other day, I was reading what a fellow blogger, Ricardo was going through. He explained that he’s experiencing a lot of stress in his l...
Every father should remember that one day his son will follow his example instead of his advice. Up in Monroe, NY in a community called ...