Workin Workin Rappin'

Alright, so most of y'all know I started workin as a housekeeper again. I love what I do but mostly I love the job for days like today. We were on the last room of the day, so me, another trainee (under the alias of Priscilla) and our supervisor (under the alias of Dee) were all workin together to get it done. Just so happened the room was a mess- the start of a beautiful story.


"There were kids in here!" I told Priscilla, lookin at the small sock left behind after the visitors left.
"Mmmhmm, look at all them crumbs!"

We grab our gear and start cleaning- there were Oreos all over the damn place and a bunch of chewed up papers.. yes. Chewed. Up. Papers.

"You know, if I had kids and brought 'em to a hotel, I would beat em." I said.
"You would what?!" Prisc asked.
"Beat 'em! Ain't no child of mine gonna crumble no cookies all over the place and live to talk about it!"
"Baby girl, you ain't got no kids! Talkin bout beatin other people's kids; you hearin all this?" She asked Dee.

"Hearin what?" Dee came into the room and Priscilla started laughing.
"She gonna beat the kids! Ain't no cookies to have for these churrdrin!"
"I heard that. I'd whoop they asses. No I wouldn't even bring 'em." Dee shook her head.
"Tiffany gone beat the damn kids. Ain't even got no kids. Shoot!" Prisc started laughin and cleanin again.

After everything that was said for the next five minutes, Priscilla ended it with, "And Tiffany gone beat the kids." It got funnier and funnier each time.

After loosening up from a long day of work, we were scrubbing and making beds and vacuuming and Priscilla started layin' down the beat as we bobbed our heads to it:

"Tiffany gonna beat the kids WHAT!
Cuz' they got all over cookie crumbs YUP!"

And that's how the rap about disciplining the children started. I love my life. Errday.

Jazzy Wrecks.

I've done nothing but beach time since I've been here in Mississippi since May. I strolled the news paper (a delightful old-fashioned source of information) and came across a jazz festival in Mobile, Alabama that happened last night.

I called the only gal I knew in Sippi, (We'll call her Georgia) and the stars must have alligned that day.

She was available to go to a jazz festival with me and I actually had the means to go.

We get to Mobile and found the sketchy run-down looking victorian-style house that the festival was happening in.  We were thrown off a bit when we got inside. We decided to wear pants and a cute tee, as not to look over dressed- turns out we were underdressed. It was a ritsy bunch, women in their Southern best, floppy hats, and gaudy jewelry, while most men either wearing a button up with black slacks or a pressed polo. Oh yeah, just a wee bit underdressed.

But jazz is jazz. And when we got in, found out that Jumbalaya, baked mac n' cheese, eggplant casserole, and tons of other deliciousness were to be served for the occasion.

We piled our little bowels and plates, finishing off with strawberry shortcake and enjoyed our stay.  The band consisted of a piano player, tuba player, and a surprano sax player, all very talented in the arts of jazz and rag time. 

Everythign felt right. Finally, a time to just chill out and enjoy the company of a friend. Then of course, the occasional flirting of a gentleman sitting a a table next to us. That's another story.

So the festival ended and we were wanting to explore more of the town.  The pretty buiildings and their lights were too much to leave too soon.  Then I saw an underground tunnel- one I recognized from the year prior that lead to where a cousin lives.

We drove into the tunnel, enjoying the bright yellow lights, then turned around and went back.

"What is this song and who does it? I've heard it but a few times before but I really like it!"Georgia asked.

I turn up the volume a bit in the car,"Home, by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros."

We get to the end of the tunnel, and I decided we should go right, back into the city part of town.  I slowed down quite a bit from the 45 speed limit, only going about 15 now to turn at the green light. Had I known there was a lane paralleling the tunnel, I might have looked a second time to see that I was in the clear.

A loud boom sound and next thing I knew, I was on the curb on the street that I was turning to and there was a maroon car that I'd hit that was on the street further up from me.

"You okay?" Georgia asked, "Yeah, you?" "Yeah."
She immediately got out of the car to go check the other vehicle. I followed suit, grabbing my phone and dialing 911. We walked up to see a dark skinned gentleman.
I think both of us blushed a little... who wouldn't? The guy was gorgeous!
He said he bumped his head, I told dispatchers where we were located, and in less than ten minutes two police vehicles arrived.

"I am so sorry, " I began apologizing.
"I slowed when I saw you coming. It's okay it's okay," and he smiled a little. Mmm.
Georgia also apologized, hoping he was okay. "I'll be fine, it's just too bad we had to meet in such circumstances," he replied to her.
"You're car looks okay except for some scratches," Georgia said.
"Yeah, and my car is a little bitch who can't take a punch." I said, making him smile a little again.

Pretty soon a fire truck showed up with some medics to check him out. Then a tow truck to take my car away.  What was once an empty street was beginning to fill with random pedestrians who were 'just walking by' and when they saw there was nothing to marvel at, walked away once more.

Oh, you're curious as to the damages?

Well, indeed, his car was just scratches. No headlight damage, no real dents from what we saw.
My car? Like a finger flicking plastic. The metal above the passenger wheel is dented in and smashed on the tire. No lights busted, the car still runs, no flat tire, no airbags deployed...

My car had to get towed because of something simple a crowbar can shimmy out. I understand, proceedure, proceedure...

At least the cops were nice. "Are you from Montana?" The policeman asked. I had a Jeff Foxworthy's There's your Sign moment when he asked that. I really wanted to say, "Nope. Just have a Montana driver's license and plates for shits and giggles." I didn't.

I just cocked my head at him and started laughing. His other cop buddy exchanged glances at him like I was high.

Before you know it, Georgia and I were telling them our life stories of how we're from the south, moved to the north - each of us- and it's all coincidence how we seperately ended up in Mississippi and got to the jazz concert tonight.

Then the cops started joking with us, "There's nothing to do in the north is there?"
"Nothing." I said.
"Well, depending on what you like!" Georgia said, defending her notherners.
"Hiking. And snow." I said.
"Haha, must not have road signs up in Montana." A cop joked.

Little does he know ladies and gents... littles does he know...

The po po ended up taking us to a Mickey D's until we could find out who was to rescue us at 10:30 in the evening. Oh yeah, best part? We rode in the back. Bars and all. I got to film it, and when I have means of getting it on youtube, it will be up.

About 30 minutes later, cousin Juju comes to save the day. She takes us back to my Mema's and I drive Georgia home to the next town over in Mema's car.

On my way back, I fell asleep behind the wheel and side swiped my car for 20 feet against the side of a bridge.

That last sentence is false. But I hope all of your hearts skipped a beat because that would be funny.

My car is in Alabama, we are all safe, and that's what happens when you go to a Jazz festival.

Resilient

"Resilient."
Yes that's the word.
The word used to describe her.
She takes a punch, might stumble, but mama ain't raise no bitch.

She'll get up and God forbid you'd have to look her in the eye.
Satan himself crumbles.
Hath no hell like a woman's look of scorn.

You watch her, amazed by her, afraid to approach her.
They all are, not just you.
See, she isn't human. 'Least that's what they all say.

You've seen her screamed at, beat, tortured, almost in a surrender to defeat-
Or at least most people's point of defeat.
So why does she get up?

What makes her so strong?
You sense it, you feel a power, you can't grasp it, but you know it's there.
She must have a great life; everything put together.

But you don't know her that well, clearly.
You don't know her own damages, her own self destruction.
You don't know what goes on when no one else can see her.

She'd kill and not bat an eye... but she knows the Great One would frown at her.
She'd tell em all to fuck off if it meant a clear mind... but she knows better kindness.
Within her, it is dark. Darker than you. Darker than me.

You think her of someone who can 'do no wrong' as if there are such people.
You think her as someone level headed, she knows she is.
You think her to always be there, always with no darkness to bear.

She hides it all away, thinking to use her ammo for another day.
She has this thing inside of her, suppressed with a goodness she wishes were not there.
She has secrets you couldn't hear with your own ears and she spares telling you, fear of your own suicide.

"God won't give you anything you can't handle," She reminds herself.
"I know that no matter what, you'll always be okay," She repeats words spoken to her years ago.
"You're resilient." She hates this word for it wants her to be weak; weak like you.

A Day At The Beach

So, as most of you know, I go to the beach every day. Every day it's not terrible weather, that is.  I lather up my SPF 1,000,000,000 and lay in the sun. Why you ask? Freckles. Yes, turns out I'm a frecklephile. Don't even know if it exists. All I know is that I feel pretty damn epic with my freckle stache and even more epic when I spot new freckle colonies.

I have nothing to do with my life, fuck you.

So anywho, I lay out there, catching the rays without the cancer and it's actually pretty peaceful. Until you get some of those Southern mommas out there, "TYRELL! GET YO ASS OUT THAT WATAH! THERE'S ECOLI!"
Don't bring him to the beach if you don't want your daily dose of bacteria.

Anywho, that is not what this story is about.

I was laying down under the 90-some degree sun and a mother and her two girls come up and start setting up their own little pow wow near me, about 15 feet away. The girls were about . .. 5? 11? Hell if I know, I can't tell the difference until they're going through puberty. They were two-footers, I'll put it like that.

About fifteen minutes or so later, when all the gals were well adjusted to their surroundings and got settled, the little two-footers went to the water and came back with a bucket full of it to pour over their momma's feet. The littlest of the two looked over to me ( I assume it was me, I was the only one laying there in the vicinity) and asked her momma," Is she sleeping? Why is she sleeping when she can play?"

Her mom, shushing her, perhaps as to not have me hear, " She's not sleepin baby, she's tanning."

I kinda got a giggle out of that. I mean, the woman couldn't have known I was there to freckle, but to tan? I mean, I'm a pasty creature.

"What is tanning momma? What is tanning?"
She was persistant despite her mom's constant shush-ing.

I sat up on my elbows and smiled at the little girl, " It means that I'm as lily white as they come and I was not blessed with such beautiful dark skin as you. The sun makes skin darker."
The little girl cocked her head and her momma said, "That was a compliment, baby. Tell her thank you."

"But momma, daddy said white people don't like us! he lied huh?"
The girls mom looked at her like she was a ghost then quickly looked at me apologetically. I just laughed and told her not to worry.
"TELL HER THANK YOU AND GIT YO ASS BACK IN THE WATER!"
The little girl thanked me then ran off.

The woman smiled at me once more before sitting under her umbrella again.
I couldn't help myself but laughing but also thinking to myself that I saved a little girl from pre-determined racism.

Drunk. Plain and Simple.

Alright fine. You all asked for it... I actually do have one drunk story. One that, after much questioning and much time that has passed, I have agreed to share. Not usually my style, but this story is so outrageous, I believe it belongs in my blog. So here it goes.


Ever gotten so drunk you wake up with your head pounding, holes in the walls, your weave in the mailbox, and an angry call from someone's grandma telling you she aired out the tires in her relative's car so you wouldn't steal it?

Oh you have... Then your name is probably... censored, as all of the names are in my blogs. So I'll call her Mama.


It was a normal weekday... a Thusday I believe, recalling the walk I had in the morning to get to French class. I had a new friend, Mama, and she was kinda like me in all ways that were obvious- loud, obnoxious, and friendly. Of course we hit it off!

I remember when we were welcoming her from across the states in our little home upstairs in Diggy's apartment. She was so excited to meet everyone, but when she saw me for the first time, we both started screaming, jumping up and down, and RAMBLED like we'd been friends for years.
Oh yes, love at first site.

So on this Thursday, Mama says to me, "I just wanna get drunk!" Very excitedly.
"I'm not angry, depressed, I've never drank a whole lot before, why not?!"
"Bottle of vodka in my trunk." I smiled at her.
"Ooooh! We gotta get prepared for this, Tibby!!"

So we did. You'd swear we had the pre-drunk munchies.  We went to the nearest grocery and bought biscuits, chips, cheetos, cookies, and lots of orange juice. You know, delicious mixing purposes. We get back to the apartment, the guys are doing as they always did, always have done, and probably as they will always do- play some COD.

We make the biscuits and Mama is so excited, "Should I be scared?" She smiled.
"Nah, I'll take good care of you. We're just gonna mow down and drink, no big."
Foreshadowing..
We didn't even wait for the biscuits to cool before we shoved them in plastic baggies, mouths, and some in our chip bags. Of our bottles of orange juice, we drink about halfway, naturally, and pour the deliciousness into the bottle. Took a couple shots from the bottle (okay fine a few) then we walk to the park and here is where the magic starts..

I have been blessed with a cast iron tolerance, so yeah, for me this is "nothing to worry about". For my chocolate sister... girl had another thing comin. We sit down at the halfpipe of the park, our snacks around us like some kind of offering to the gods and begin talking.
Time lapse~
I notice her motions are getting a little shifty, "Hey, mama, we should start walkin back."
"Yeah but it's so nice outside!"
At this moment, she gets up and almost biffs just standing there.
Oh boy.
"I gotta peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee Tibbyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!"
"The bathrooms are right over there," pointing in the directions of them.
We wander over to the bathrooms and dispose of our garbage. I was rather impressed we downed a whole can of biscuits, two bags of salty goodness, and enough liquid to counteract it.
"The doors are locked! Whatever, I don't even care," Mama said, as she walked to the front of the restrooms.
"Mama you're not... yes. Yes you are. Okay."
She doesn't even hesitate to pop a squat and start laughing her ass off, "Look! oh my gosh do you see me? BAHAHAHA dude I'm peeing on the bathrooms!"
"Yeah I see you." And I can't help but crack a giggle myself.
"It's so hot out here Tibbyyyyy."
"No it's not, you just MAMA NO!! PUT THAT BACK ON!"

She's already stripping her shirt but I notice she has a tank underneath.

"Still too hot," She says. But I coax her out of the second layer.
"Mama, we need to get you back to the apartment. It will be nice and cool there."

Those that are reading you know, you KNOW you can not argue with a drunk. If they say it's hot, then it IS and you say anything to appeal to them. If they say they don't care, then you damn well agree and say they don't care and coax them to sit down in a damn chair with a straight jacket. I, however, did not have one of those and I was freezing balls.

"I want more vodka!" She said.
"Well, there's more back at the apartment. We gotta walk that way to get there though."
It's more than a few blocks away and what seemed as a short walk before was now crossing into the New World.
"Tibbbyyyyyy, where are weeeeee?"
"Mama, we've only walked a block." I look back, gestering at the park.
"Oh, bwahahahahhahaaaaaa."
She tries to call her brother and I tell her he's probably sleeping.
"BUT HE LOVES ME!"
So she calls him, and I explain she's schwasty. He was a good sport and laughed it off.
Fastforward

We get to the apartment, but she didn't want to go in, knowing where the drink is, still in my trunk.
"You said so! You said so!" She yelled.
Okay, prepare to be mindfucked.
"Mama, it's upstairs, remember? We took it up when we took the biscuits up."
"O YEAH!! TO THE KITCHEN!" She said, but not before falling on the cement. Nothing bad, just kinda sat on the driveway.
"I have too much hair, you know that? It gets so hot and sticky!"
She tussles her own hair, but it messes up an extension. What better to do than to pull it out right? Wrong. She unravelled some kind of maze of weave.

"Uh oh..." She said.
"Let me help." Kinda laughing at the predicament. Okay so fine, I had a drunk moment myself and didn't know where to put her hair to keep it safe. "I'm gonna put these in the mailbox so we remember okay?" Boy was I wrong.
I get her up the stairs to the apartment.
Things are fine until she sees Diggy... they kinda had a thing once, but were friends at the time.

Drunk Mama didn't think so.

"Wake up! Wake up! It's me!" She said to him, petting his hair.

You know, we're gonna skip this whole part. It went on for hours. Me pulling her away, trying to calm her, she woke up the whole house, she tried climbing DOWN the stairs, I tried to hold on, then let go because she was being so agressive, she fell down a flight the first time and made a hole in the wall at the bottom of the stairs with her head.

I'm not gonna lie. I laughed my ass off. She did too, she had superman strength in her drunkness. She crawled back up the stairs then wanted to go down AGAIN! I didn't try to stop her this time. I just watched. And again, down the stairs.

Diggy at this point asks, "Is she falling down the stairs?"
"Yeah man."
He started giggling, "That's so awesome." Then went into his bedroom to get some sleep.
More hours of this and I've already sobered up. Unknowing of what to do with a crazy chocolate on my hands, I put her in the car and bring her to her dorm room.

Little did I know, not the smartest thing.

Her cousin was in the room and woke up to Mama screaming.
"What is wrong with her?" She asked.
"She's a crazy drunk. Good to know for future reference."
We get her into some clean clothes and lay her down. She goes through the motions, puking, crying, puking, sleeping, shivering, and I thought it was all in the clear.
"Keep the glass of water next to her for when she wakes. She's gonna want to keep hydrated."
And I walked back to Diggy's because we always walked together in the morning for French. I got a few hours of sleep and we started to walk.

"Sorry she woke you up man."
"It happens."
And we start bullshitting on our way to class when I get a phone call.
"Is this who they call Thibodeaux?"
The lady on the other end is making this sound like some sketchy drug deal.
"Yes ma'am."
She sounded surprised, either from the fact that I'm a gal, or because I was so polite.
"This is (Mama's) grandmother. I want you to know her cousin called me and she is now in my care. I have no idea what you two got into last night but I am very disappointed. I have a right mind just to call the police."
"Yes ma'am."
"And I have located her car and aired out the tires, so don't think about taking it anywhere."
"Yes ma'am. She has the keys in her room."
"I have no idea what you thought you were doing. I should press charges but I need time to think."
"Yes ma'am."
"Well good bye."
And she hung up the phone. "Who was that?" Diggy asked.
"Her grandma" I said, he knew who I was talking about.
"Yeah? She got (Mama)?"
"Yeah, said she might press charges. For supplying a minor."
"Oh... wait but you're not even..." He looks at me questioningly.
"No. I got it in Canada."
We both start laughing. "Dude, don't sweat it."

So I didn't. But that day when Mama came up to me crying, asking what happened, I had to explain the whole night. By the end of the tale, she was done crying and started laughing. "Psssh that's not so bad! My grandma made it sound like I did something dangerous!"

Don't drink and walk kids, or you might wake up with a hole in the wall and your weave in the mailbox.


Which by the way, we didn't even remember until a couple weeks later when we saw something furry poking out of the side of the mailbox. We laughed so hard when we pulled it out.

Humphrey

It was a normal day just like any other day. Kinda.


I was on the phone with my Queer, talking about the asinine people of life, jobs, and dreaming of travels that would always have to wait for a later tomorrow. 

See, I've been staying with the Mema whose stories you have all come to learn and love. First hand, you must know that her house, as all houses do, make the creeking, swaying, and scratching noises on occasion. I've gotten used to all of these noises - when the vents turn on, the rediculously loud gusting sounds that come; the sounds the doors and floors make when someone is going through the house, and, when appropriate, the noises the windows make when the rain pours on them, or how they rattle when the thunder wakes me up in the middle of the night to which I respond frantically grabbing at nothing but air only to realize it was thunder, then huddle with a pillow until I pass out from frightening exhaustion....

Different story, different day...

So, lying on my bed, phoning it up with Queer, and just as I am about to hang up to go about our seperate businesses, I hear a scratching at the window behind me.  You must understand, this was not a faint scratching. This was like a-branch-just-crashed-into-your-window-now-you're-screwed scratching.
"What the? Hold on a sec," I said over the phone, then sat up in my bed and turned to look at the window, not but three seconds after sitting up did I let out a blood curtling scream.
"What? What is it?" I hear over the reciever.
"WHAT THE EFF?! GET OFF THERE! OH MY- WHAT THE!?"

I began laughing hysterically and hear Mema coming frantically (which is still pretty slow) down the hallway to my room to see what had happened.

I hear laughing over the phone again," What the hell did you do?"

"It's a damn squirrel. It is ON the window. Not peering from the side, it is ON the screen. It is a big ass damn squirrel! I gotta let you go!" More laughter over the phone, then we hang up.

Mema opens the door, "What? What?"

"Look at that damn thing!" At that time, as if the bastard heard me, grappled its way to the side of the window where only its wirey tail was to be seen.

I retold Mema what happened and how it startled me. She laughed at me and shook her head, "Well damn."

Lesson today, children? Never underestimate the terror of Humphrey the Hemaphroditic Squirrel and his crazy cousins.

WallyWorld Dress Code

It was the end of the school year, and Queer and I went in to WallyHell to look at some stuff. I wanted a delicious sun dress, to be more specific.


Just doing the usual, staring at all the pretty bathingsuits I know that my tatas could never fit into, looking at terribly designed shirts with him, and finally in the middle of the aisle we found them: Sun dresses. He has always hated the style; says they just look like moo moos for skinny people and they don't give anyone a shape.

He might have a point, but if it doesn't require unconfortable pants, buttons, or underwear, I'm all for the comfort of the beautiful moo moo- esque dresses. I was looking through them kinda half-assed like.  A blue one there, a red one here, some with patters... I could pull off whatever I wanted but none of them were just... you know... BAM! Until I found it- deep in the pile of moo moos- the sexiest Sun dress ever! It was a black and white stripped one, the stripes meeting at the bust, and slanting downward in a triangle type dealio.

Whatever, it was a damn dress.

So, I wander off with him to Manworld, all the while looking for someone to let me into the dressing rooms.
"I'm going back to that lady that was near the dresses. Maybe she has a key." I said, referring to the woman wearing the uniform blue shirt and khakis.

It didn't take much to find her- she was still relatively in the same spot, in the teen section a ways from where I found my delicious dress. I approched her, as you approach all employees of this establishment... waiting for the deer in headlights look as if they've done something wrong.

"Hi I was wondering if I could get into a changing room?" I asked.
"I don't work here."

I immediately let out a cackle then ran like a madman in the direction of my Queer. I couldn't stop laughing until he asked, "She doesn't work here does she?"
I continued laughing and hid behind him as if she would come and strike me with the hand of Zeus.

I saw a gal with a scanner in hand, folding up men's clothes. "For the love of God, please tell me you work here? "
She started laughing, "Yeah, you need into a changing room?" She asked, gesturing at my dress.

I got into a dressing room, but pretty sure I scared the customers walking around on the outside of it.
"Bitch, shut up, you're scaring people." Said Queer.
I stood outside of it to let Queer tell me what he thought. "Moo moo." Was all he said.

"What about you? Any oppositions to this dress?" I asked the REAL employee.
"Dude that looks awesome."
"I'll take it."

I was to a dull roar by the time I got to the checkout to purchase my dress.  Moral of this story? If you're going to go to WallyWorld, (and you know what store I mean) for the love of all that is merciful, do NOT wear the uniform. Seriously, who wakes up saying to themselves, Yeah, this feels like a plain blue shirt with ironed khakis kinda day, ??

We Love Older Men?

As of recent, I've moved across the United States back to my roots in my lovely state of Missippi.  I've been hitting the beach every day for about three weeks now because (until recently, yay!) I have been jobless.  Here is just one of the incidents that has come my way involving the mighty male.

As some of you are not aware, men are bold in the south in many more ways than just one.  Some are brave, some will show off, and some will just downright tell you that you have a nice rack.  In this case, are brave enough to question you of all your life details without even knowing your name...


I'd been laying on the beach for a while and the sand had become very hot in the early noon so I decided to finally go out for a swim.  There were quite a few people at the main beach, though not as many as the week to follow with the temperature getting into the high nineties.  I was still on my way out into the water and only about waist deep when I saw him from the corner of my eye.

He was.. . older looking. Forties? Scruffy hair. A bigger guy. Friendly looking enough? Oh boy.

Ladies that have had this happen, you know what sixth sense I'm talking about - you can feel them not only looking at you, but searching for a way to approach you; searching for the right way to strike up the conversation.

"Doesn't get too deep out here does it."
Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner. Great conversation starter!
"No." What the hell else can you say?
"How far can you go out before it gets deep enough to swim in?" He asked.
There you go buddy, open ended questions.
"You can keep walkin out to the end of the pier before it gets deep."

The Pascagoula Beach Pier stretches out quite a ways. Don't ask me in feet, I'm blind in one eye and that somehow means I suck hard at telling distance.

"Oh wow," Oh no, here it comes ladies. Brace yourselves.. .
"Where's your husband at?" He asks.

I just shat a brick. There it is, floating off in the Gulf.
"Ha oh, what?" Dude took me by surprise! Seriously, I understand a bold move, but when you ask directly where my muscle is, it's not exactly comforting.

"Well," He starts, still not phased of my reaction to his question," I saw you go by and I thought that you were so beautiful. I thought you must have a husband at least."

"No not a husband," I replied, composing a nice poker face,"a boyfriend."
"Oh okay. How old are you?" He asked. Tits, with the quesitons again.
"Twenty-one."
"Oh, okay I'm probably too old for you anyway." I see that.
I just stare at him for a moment as he stares at me, waiting for some sort or reply.
"Thirty-eight." He says. I just shrug and smile, playing off it's not that big of a deal.
I think I'm way to nice to ever let someone down hard. Hell, he had the guts to talk to me, why not have the courtesy to be a lady in return?

"Where are you from?" He asked, again trying desperately to keep me talking.
"From here." I replied.
"Oh, you have an accent I've never heard before."
"Oh," Shit that's right. I sound southern to the North, and northern to the South.
"I just moved back from Montana. Too cold for my liking." I said, still smiling.
"That's nice. Lots of snow huh?" Yeah buddy. "Well that is a beautiful accent. And you're a very beautiful lady." Putting the stopper on....
"I just saw you go by," he restated, "and thought you might want to go on a date. Guess I'm too old for you." Lord, stop repeating yourself. It's alright darlin, Lord help you, it's alright.

"Well thank you. I should be heading back now." Noticing I've been standing in the waist-deep water long enough.
"Okay, I'm just going to the end of the pier to see where the beach finally drops off." He said, looking at me for some kind of company. I just don't want to.
"Have a nice day!" I headed toward shore.

Now ladies, this has happened to some of you before as well.  You're going away, he's going the opposite way, and all of a sudden you can't help but feel he's coming your way. Note, he's coming your way because he needed to go the same way, but wanted to stop the awkward before it got deeper.

I'll have you know, I get out of the water, glace back, and there he is about twenty feet behind me. I meander off to my towel that's on the other side of the pier and away from the main beach.  I noticed him leave and felt a slight relief. Mean? No. Sometimes it's just nice to kick back in your own awkward silence instead of trying to fill someone else's.

What did we learn today? Let 'em down easy. More importantly, just say you have a husband in the first place.