That's sexual harassment, and I DON'T have to take it!

So, I'm walking down State Street, minding my own business, contemplating spending money I don't have on things I don't need -- especially after purchasing 2 rather awesome purple chairs with a gangster 15% discount that I got after talking to a woman who turned out to be a Delta and...ahem. I digress....

Anyway. I'm walking along and I know that it's that time of year where the boys are out and ready to get some action (of the female variety). Let me pause here by saying that I am not, (in this case), trying to be arrogant. I'm not saying that I'm the hottest thing since sliced bread. Especially today when I'm wearing a bra so heavily padded that I resemble one of those girls that appears as though she may fall flat on her face due to the sheer top heaviness of her figure. Unhappily, my butt is sticking out in such a way that it looks like I'm overcompensating; in hopes that I'll create some sort of gravity balance by twisting my body into the shape of a duck. My point is, that I don't think I look extra dextra hot today. Instead, the boys are just, well, horny.

I've lived here long enough to know the drill. They speak, you speak back without making eye contact and keep it moving. This strategy works well on marketers, those Save the Children people with clipboards, and skeezy guys that are raising their odds of success by hitting on as many women as possible. Today, it worked on the first guy that said hello. The second guy, however, not so much.

I didn't get a good look at the second guy (remember the rule for avoiding eye contact), but out of the corner of my eye I could see CarHart colored cargo pants that were 4 sizes too big, a black t-shirt, and a cap. But, what I heard was this "Hey L'il Mama. -- pause for reaction --". When I didn't respond because I was fairly certain he was the kind of dummy that wouldn't go away, I heard this:

"Hey L'il Mama. Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama...." This entire time, I'm walking rather briskly, in attempts to shake this guy. Sadly, being 5'2" makes it rather easy to match my pace. So, he finally decides to go all in: "Hey L'il Mama...can I get a hug?" With his arms held out, and more or less blocking my path on one side. To borrow a basketball term -- I was boxed in. Sadly for him, I've dated a lot of basketball players in my day. I stepped left, faded right, and spun my way out of his intended embrace. (Honestly, that may not have been the best idea for me. It would have been the most action I've gotten in over a month!) Anyway...

REALLY!?!? REALLY?!!?! I mean, did he think I was all of a sudden going to change my mind? What chapter is this in the playa's handbook?

So, what we've learned is, no more going over to State Street without an escort. I may have to get back together with my ex just so he can meet me at the CVS, escort me to wherever I need to go, and then drop me back off at the CVS. Geez!!!