Ya know… going out in the city can be problematic (especially if you’re a STONE COLD FOX like I am. hehe). Guys never understand that any girl they are trying to talk to has seen that approach at LEAST as many times as Lil Kim has gotten her stomach pumped of that “natural protein”. Newsflash: You saying “Hey gurl. You got a man?” makes NOT a pickup line. Also, you rolling down your window while I’m walking to the car and saying “Hey gurl. Come holla at me for a second” is not an invitation for a date. It’s the quickest way to see someone power-walking in stilettos (fab ones, might I say).
Anyhow, I go to the club with my girls to dance, drink (a lil), and people watch (there is never a shortage of foolery). I did NOT go to have my private space invaded by some subpar fella. And to make matters worse, the guys that want to get in my face sometimes have breath that smell like:
- Flaming hot funyuns (heavy on the onions part)
- Hot dog water
- The feet and pits of a football player after a game that went double overtime
- The inside of a fake leg (shoutouts to “Anchorman”)
- Garbage that has been sitting in the sun for days (visible on any street in New York)
- A building that is full of Africans cooking various foods (I love my people and our food but when you step in this kind of zone, you may pass out from the sheer strength of the smell)
- The breath of a dog who has spent 2 days drinking toilet water
- Something crawled up in between their gums and died (yes. It can be THAT bad)
This makes for a bad situation when it comes to guys talking to me. I am known for sometimes lacking any brain filter (aka saying whatever comes in my head).
Sidenote: Like the other day, I was in a computer lab, and some chick was checking her email and I heard “You’ve Got Mail.” The words “People still have AOL???” rushed loudly out my mouth before I even KNEW I was thinking. As people in the lab cracked up, I kicked myself and thought “I REALLY need to get a brain filter before I get beat up one day.”
Anywho, I DO have a filter sometimes, because otherwise, I would have told one of these gentlemen callers a “halitosis-having, yuck-mouth fool who needs to get out my face because he is making my eyelashes curl”. But since I have yet to say that to anyone, I believe I should receive an award of some sort. What I mostly do it ice-grill the offensive guy, give him the side-eye and look disgusted until he takes the hint and walks away from fear of being turned to stone. If looks could kill, I’d be locked up for at least 45 years for first degree (and probably be some big chick named Bertha’s b*tch. It’d be tragic really. Besides, I don’t look good in orange. And despite the fact that I used to wear denim jumpsuits my Sophomore year of college, I have learned that they don’t flatter me. Jumpsuits are NOT my friend.).
Yeah, I should DEFINITELY get an award for my saintly duties of not having told a Hot Breath Harry about his offensive and downright inexcusable breath.