Sexy Shoes
My shoes, apparently, are sexy.
This afternoon, I was sitting at the bus stop, listening to the iPod Nano I stole from my sister. A bus halted and after a few passengers alighted, it turned up the engine to move forward. A red traffic light stopped it.
There were passengers on the bus, one of which peered out.
He resembled Chicken Little, as well as everything else nowadays. Chicken Little’s in everyone.
Gold, dorky spectacles, pale, sticky skin and pudding bowl hair.
Or rather, mushroom shaped hair. Like Ah Ber.
You know those kinds where you plop a bowl on your head and cut accordingly.
Voila, coconut head.
A pervish look crept upon his face.
He looked at me, I glared back.
That’s what you should do. See people staring at you? Don’t ignore them, stare at them back, till your eyes are ready to pop out of their sockets and dangle. They’d cower.
Unfortunately, for this Chicken Little Asshole, it failed. He glanced down and still had his pedophile look. I started to wonder what was so intriguing.
I checked my fly. Nope, zipped.
I checked my legs. Nope, hairy.
I checked my boobs. Nope, nearly non-existent.
I checked my hands. Nope, nothing sexy.
Thus I conclude, he was staring my my shoes. I was about to board the bus and kick his nuts with the shoes on my feet, which he oh-so-lovingly stared at. But then again, I didn’t want my shoes to touch icky stuff.
So the bus zoomed away, carrying Chicken Little away with it.
If you want your shoes to be sexually harassed, buy Converse brown high-cut sneakers with all the funny pictures all over it. Yep, those are my sexy shoes.
Chickens these days…