The time? 11:03 p.m.
The location? The street that takes me home.
The situation? Innapropriate.
As I was making my way home last night at the above mentioned time, I saw someone walking a dog on the side of the road. Normally this would not even attract my attention, but there was something out of the ordinary happening with this dog-walker. I noticed that the person was wearing short shorts and a see-through shirt.
At eleven o'clock at night. It's hot here, but not that hot.
Now, it wasn't like she was wearing the clothes and didn't have the body for it; she actually had a fairly nice physique, but I was still astonished when I saw her dressed that way.
I could only think, "What is this chick's deal?"
Nevertheless, I then looked up at her face, to get a better look at this apparent sorority girl who just didn't know any better. When I got to the face, I realized that this woman had a good forty years on me.
It is at these times that those of us in the male gender feel an uncomfortable situation, er, between the legs. It is a sensation that also accompanies seeing something really gross or inhumane, like the disemboweling scene in Braveheart or how I would imagine audiences would have felt when they realized that the girl in The Crying Game was actually a boy. Let's leave it with the fact that I suddenly wished that I did not possess an X and a Y chromosome.
My immediate response was to yell, "Why didn't I start with the face?" The person riding in the car with me just laughed and looked at me as if to say, "You silly boy; Trix are for kids," but then the person that I ride with always laughs and looks at me that way, so I didn't really need to take note of it.
3 hours ago