It's my morning. 4PM. I finally decide to leave the house and do a few errands around town. I love to pretend I'm some avant garde celebrity when I leave the house, therefore, you'll find me in the latest attire K-Mart has to offer. I make sure I look like a hot mess. I simply do not want to engage with people or even be looked at. Yes. My neurosis exposed.
The library. The calmest place on earth. Minus the homeless people snoring or talking to their "friends" in a level 8 voice. But before I swiftly run into my safe haven to drop off a few books my skin already begins to feel tight. Someone is looking at me. Oh Lord. Walk faster Patrice. "How YOU doin'..." He repeats it about two more times.
The left side of my body begins to twist in the direction of the Pimp Talk. Patrice don't turn around! But I have this horrible guilt when it comes to ignoring someone who is blatantly talking to me. My body is fully turned now. I have to commit.
With deep disdain in my voice, "I'm...good". I notice that my voice is quite a few octaves lower than normal. Really, Patrice? Were you trying to sound like a man right now, so he would leave you alone? Wow. I mean, the voice that came out is in no way close to my real voice. I start to laugh inside my head--which is then interrupted by the man saying, "YES YOU ARE." I cringe. Walk awkwardly faster into the library and catch my breath. And then I catch the eye of the security guard inside. He is already starting to lick his lips.
I have this conversation with my mother all the time. Why is it that the Pimps have no problem hollerin'at a lady. And it seems that the Decent Dozen won't give as much as a head nod. Oh the ways of the world. I guess it all comes down to security and beauty.
Did I fail to mention that this man that was hollerin'at me was elderly. No, I'm not kidding.