Recently I saw a friend with his daughter, she’s in high school, and she whispered to him in regards to me: “He looks like a killer.” Specifically a hit man, or someone that does mob enforcement.
My friend laughed and told me what she had said.
I don’t think I look like a killer. I don’t, but I have changed and I am continuing to change. I don’t hurry, ever, and I don’t get out of anyone’s way.
I had one old lady call me an asshole for not budging and brushing past her. Sorry, bitch, but if you set yourself in my path and have a look of defiance, it’s not going to change anything. I told her she reminded me of my sweet great grandma.
The days of deference to you died with feminism and with her age I would guess she goes back to the bra burners. (although to her face, I would ask if she was a suffragette).
I don’t get emotional about things either. Which the women I am with find both irresistable, troubling and vexing.
People think I can get them drugs, even friends. A couple years ago I never would have been asked. I just laugh at them.
I stopped by an office on a work related errand and I was talking to a man there about Christmas shopping, and we talking about needing help (I was more commiserating than anything else) and a woman pipes up that “She’d help me.”
There was that look a woman has in her eyes when she’s up to mischief.
When I looked over at her, she smiled and told me “She knew all about me.”
My bad reputation appears to be spreading.
