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Dear dude in the black truck with blacked out windows driving past my house - very slowly, mind - four times as I worked in the garden:

WTF, dude? Hey, I'm a lady and have lady parts that dudes in vehicles like yours fancy. And dudes in vehicles like yours don't often ask permission to get their mitts on lady parts. SO EXCUSE MY GLARING AT YOU, but my first instinct isn't that you're checking out my lovely flowers, but that you're wanting to chloroform me and pluck my lady flower, if you catch my meaning.

AND WHEN I MOUTH "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" AT YOU, FLIPPING ME OFF IS NOT THE RIGHT ANSWER. But me approaching your vehicle on the fourth pass with my pitchfork in hand WAS the right answer.

Which is probably why you didn't drive by a fifth time.

And I called the local police station with your license plate number, because seriously, dude: WTF?

Signed, ME, the chick with the pitchfork who isn't afraid to use it.


Jul. 17th, 2012 11:33 pm (UTC)
Dammit, I should have responded by pointing at my arms.


Are You Actually

Reading this? I'm just curious. Because that's really detail-oriented of you. Feel free to stop reading. But you can see that there's more here, so are you going to keep reading? Really? That's pretty dedicated. I'm impressed. No, really. I'm not being sarcastic, why do you get like that? See, this is the problem I have with your mother - yes. YES. I'm going there. It's time we put all of our cards on the table.

I love you, why are you doing this? After all we've been through? You don't have to be like this. You know, still reading. You could be baking a pie. And then sharing it with me.

Time Wot It Is

April 2017
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