"you just don't like black men"

"hey, cutie," he said.

But I thought he said "hey, kitty," so I looked up, a bit startled, and looked right at the man talking on the cell phone.

Ugh. Oops. Shit.

HIs eyes light up. "Hey gorgeous," he says. "You look so pretty today. Mmm, mmm, mmm, I mean, you look real, real good." I laugh. I do? Do I look real, real good in my calf length winter coat, with a scarf is wrapped around my face? There isn't much to see here. Maybe he likes my boots.

"Hey sweetie, come on honey, aren't you gonna stop and talk to me?"

I laugh again. His words sound so silly, he must be trying to joke with me. I shake my head at him.

"Dude...seriously," I say.

Of course, this only encourages him more.

"Hey beautiful, hey blondie, where you going? Can I talk to you, just for one second, just for a minute? You know, you look so good today."

I put my head down. Keep walking.

"Come on sweetie, come on. Just stop and talk to me for a minute." Okay, at first he made me laugh, but now this Joe is starting to annoy me. And he's still got that cell phone to his ear--is he even talking to anyone? What does the person on the other end think of all this? Is he on hold?"

"Oh, okay. I get it, I see. You just don't like black men."

Ugh. For christ's sake. Yes, yes, that's it. I just don't like black men. See, you're just not my type. If you were white or Puerto Rican or Asian, I'd be interested. In fact, I'd drop what I'm doing right now and give you a blow job.

You've got me all figured out, cell phone dude. That's right, my problem is that I just don't like black men.