On my way out of My Place in Mitchellville Plaza, I briefly caught eyes with one of the many baseball hat clad dark brothers in the spot. Taking my eye contact as a sign of attraction and a signal of my permission, he waited until I got near enough to reach out and wrap his manly hand around my tiny brown wrist. I threw him a polite smile that read 'thank you but no thank you' and turned my focus towards the crowded aisle. My little sisters were following closely behind me and as the front lady, it was critical that I focused to find a path of least resistance towards the door. As I took a step, I realized that my arm was no longer beside me but at a 35 degree angle behind me. Hmm... If I'm not mistaken, it seems as if he's still holding my wrist. I heightened my sensory receptors and confirmed my observation. I didn't want to look back so as to encourage him so I took stepped forward another inch. My arm heightened to a 45 degree angle. Hmm... Is he not going to let go? Another inch. 65 degrees. Another inch. His hold was now kinda tight. 80 degrees. Mister prince george's county was not only maintaining his hold on my fragile wrist, but was now cutting off my circulation. I winced slightly as a sharp pain shot up my arm towards my shoulder. At this time, as my arm was now tautly pulled at a 90 degree angle blocking the path of others behind me, I figured I better stop moving. Since it was clear he was not giving in, I decided I had to choose between losing out on a valuable minute of my life and a functioning arm. I acquiesced to his more than firm grab and followed the direction in which he led me. I smiled the smile I knew he wanted to see and stepped up closely to his body and waited for his most amazing, stellar introductory line that must have been of the utmost importance to cause me such pain. He smiled that smug little smile of his as I stood in his space, pleased with himself. He still hadn't released my wrist which was now red with an Indian burn likeness. He glanced at his surrounding boys, who were all fixated on our exchange, in that i-got-this kinda way that overconfident men do. That's when I rolled my eyes in my heart. I looked up into his eyes the way a girlfriend would look into her man's after he just finished saying I love you for the first time, and motioned for him to come closer so he could hear me over the music. "What's your name?" I asked sweetly into his ear. After he responded, I motioned for him to come closer again. I put my hand on his arm so that he could bulge his muscle under my touch and feel more of a man for it. By now, he was wide open. "I understand that you find me attractive and am in request of my attention. But I would like to ask you a question." I continued without waiting for his response. "Is it really your unrequited desire to restrain me so forcefully that you maneuver me into some sort of WWF dead lock position that causes sharp pains to shoot up the posterior ligaments of my arm? I deduce that since you are here tonight celebrating the Pittsburg Steelers 27-23 Superbowl victory over the Arizona Cardinals along with the other civilized inhabitants of this establishment, you are not a prehistoric barbarian that beats his mates over the head with a club to show affection. If my assumption is correct, I want you to know that my shoulder is not double jointed, nor am I a circus act. Now if you would so oblige me... please let go." I drew back slightly to see his face. As if on cue, his smile dropped and he released his claws on my irritated wrist. I counted to three just in case he wanted to respond. When I realized he had nothing to say, as I knew would be the case, I said thank you and patted him on top of his now deflated muscle. I smiled my sweet smile once again, looked towards my little sisters and nodded towards the door.
Or at least that's what I should have done. Instead, my little sisters shot mister prince george's county that good old stank, are-you-out-of-your-mind, venom face that us black woman have become so talented at giving (because of jerks like mister prince george's county) and forcibly released my arm from his grasp. Thanks little sis' for saving my arm. Next time j.a.c. Next time.
4 comments:
wow! its always easier to say, yea this is what i would have said...but if you can remember to say that next time, that will be AWESOME...on a positive note i was actually approached very nicely this weekend...dude hasn't called...but hey...LOL
LOL! This is priceless!!
Is it only PG county men that are so notorious for this? I've never experienced it anywhere else though.
lmao...great one! I sure do wish you would've said that...I would've paid good money to see the reaction on his face. What a moron!
I think too many guys are getting more and more disrespectful and barbaric these days. I was out on Friday (in a freaking Obama shirt by the way) and some tights and long sweater vest (so nothing was exposed or even remotely hoochie) and this guy smacked my butt like I was a hoe and he was my pimp. I was LIVID! But it was such a crowded space that I didn't know who did it. It's a shame when our men are so perverse and disgusting that they don't know how to contain themselves around women. Luckily for the offender I didn't know his identity and I didn't have a bottle in my hand because otherwise I would've smashed him right in the head with it. There better not be a next time though because I will make it my mission to take care of someone who does that to me!
dang, i was memorizing that lil speech til i realized you never said it. great cliff hanger :-)
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