The following is a paid advertisement from Sit On Your Fat Ass Productions and does not necessarily represent the views of Mrs. Hyde, A Bitch Called Mom, or The Well-Fed Spirit.
Just kidding. The last time I had ads on my blog, I only had about 20 followers. Took the ads off, now almost 200. So...the ads stay gone.
What I really want to do is tell you about a conversation I had yesterday in a parking lot.
Apparently, I have a face that says, "Please bore me with your mindless, personal bullshit" because strangers are always coming up to me and telling me all their personal business. Once a lady, in the same parking lot now that I think of it, just started telling me about her illnesses and all the medication she had to take but couldn't afford. She started crying, bawling actually, and people were looking at me like I had done something to her. I would have given her a hug, but...I didn't know that bitch. I didn't know what kind of germs and shit she had. I mean, she said she was sick, right? So I gave her two dollars to put toward her next crack hit and hightailed it the fuck outta there.
In our area we have what might be called a super shopping center. Nobody really calls it that. I'm just making this shit up as I go along, but roll with it. In this super shopping center there is a Walmart/Sam's Club/Home Depot Complex, several smaller stores and restaurants, and my favorite store Aldi. Directly on the backside of this complex, the ass if you will, there are even more stores including, Giant, Marshall's, Dollar Tree, etc. I count at least 24 additional businesses that I haven't named. Needless to say, I live in this shopping center.
Back to the conversation. Let me set the scene for you:
Approximately 1:00 PM on a sunny Wednesday afternoon. The temperature was about 60 degrees, but as it was not that warm when I initially left the house, I was wearing a
I had just left Sam's Club and was in the parking lot placing my 17-pack of bread in the trunk of my van. The minuscule amount of exercise it took for me to walk from the store to my van with all that bread was enough to encourage a hot flash. I opened the driver's side door and proceeded to remove the five pounds of sheep's ass from my back and toss it into the passenger seat.
As I did this, a young man, a baby really, happened by. And so the following insane conversation ensued.
Man Baby: Damn! Who knew you were hiding all that under that sweater?
Me: Are you calling me fat?
Man baby: Naw, Ma. I'm saying, you looking good. (the preceding comma was not a mistake. 'I'm saying' is an expression all its own)
Me: Do I look like your mama?
Man Baby (laughing his ass off at the hot old lady): You damn sure don't look like my mama. That's just something young guys say to women who look good to them. Like 'baby,' but less offensive.
Me: You think it's less offensive to call me 'Ma' than it is to call me 'baby?' Of all the things I need, one more person calling me 'Ma' ain't one of them.
MB: I thought older women didn't like to be called 'baby.'
Me: So now I'm old?
MB (fidgeting nervously and wishing he had just admired my ass and boobs from a distance): No, um, you're not old, just older than me. A little. I think. Look, I was just trying to give you a compliment. I saw you standing there and when you took off your sweater, I saw your body and I was like 'wow.' I just wanted to tell you how good you looked.
Me: Actually, you were like 'damn', but whatever. What do you like about it?
Me: My body. What do you like about it?
MB: Um, your um...the whole thing.
Me: Do you like my ass?
MB (sweating bullets): Yeah. It's...it's nice.
Me: Good. I was wondering if the injections were working or not.
Me: Yeah. I get chicken hormones injected into my ass once a week.
MB: Why the hell you do that, Ma?
Me (giving him the evil eye): Because not all black women were born with Beyonce booties. Besides, have you seen the asses on those Purdue chickens?
Me: What? You never heard of that? How do you think Kim Kardashian's ass got so big? The only downside is that you have to keep getting the injections because the hormones don't last long. Think about it: every time you see Kim K, her ass is a different size. That's cause she's in various stages of chicken ass withdrawal.
Me: What I really hate are the side effects. You see this? (I show him a gray hair on my chin) It looks like a hair, but it's really a feather. They grow everywhere that hair grows. EVERYWHERE.
MB: Yeah...I'ma...um...it was nice...yeah. (He starts walking real fast toward Walmart)
Me: Hey! Are you all right? You don't look so good. Watch out for that truck!
That'll teach him to call me an old fat mama.
I'm was merely preparing the lad for his future relationships. Because when you accost women in the parking lot of the Walmart/Sam's/Home Depot complex, all you'll get is crazy.
Okay, this didn't really happen. When he doled out his initial 'compliment,' I grinned politely, got in my van, and drove away.
But now you understand the craziness that goes on in my head.
I told you it was scary.