Thursday, January 12, 2006

Old ladies please, don't try to call me out on my shit. I know what I'm doing and I hate on myself enough that I can see whatever you're going to throw at me from a mile away. Don't try to make me look/feel like an ass when I run the stop sign in front of the grocery store.

As soon as you glance at me from 10 feet away while I'm walking towards the entrance I know exactly what you're going to say. I've already played out every single scenario in my head.

"excuse me, did you know that that was a stop sign in front of the store you just drove through?"

Yes, of course I did.


Bitches please.

You're playing me at the checkout counter too.

"How old are you?"

Twenty something.

You're so cute"

I'll tell my mom you said so. And I'm not paying with cash so ringing my coffee ice cream up thee times isn't going to do you much good.

"Good Looking and smart..."

And right at that moment I thought to myself that it really isn't all poetry, windmills and aeroplanes. Then I opened my mouth:

Lady, if I want any more shit from you I'll squeeze your head.


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