Somebody just “say lil mamma”d me across a parking lot.
Flailing his arms to get my attention. Yelling like a fool in distress.
I walked on. I’m not a cat, I don’t respond to cat calls.
“SAY LIL MAMMA”
“SHAWTAY, YOU HEAR ME!”
But I don’t. I quicken my step.
Refusing to accepting my disdain, he flung his prepubescent chest over the balcony, as if to extend himself -uninvited- toward me.
I cringed and frowned.
He rocked a dirty white doo-rag over his head; and flashed a crusty mouth grin, exposing teeth I’m sure hadn’t been brushed.
Shirtless, he continued grinning, and rubbed gritty palms across pieces of dehydrated taco meat that served as a poor excuse for chest hair….
Then, adjusted his you-know-what in boxers that were way too thin, and much too low, to pass for outside wear…
…and certainly not for conversation with a woman of my caliber.
Obviously, I flashed my ring, reset my gaze, and ignored him like the alt-right ignores black lives…..
I inquired of self,
“Do my sistas really respond to this?”
Then laughed, “na….that can’t be true.”
Til’ I walked back outside and guess who’d joined him?
Sittin’ on his lap, kissin’ on that filthy doo-rag, muggin’ me like I’m her competition.
I shook my head and let out a sigh.
There’s a certain kind of woman who responds to that approach.
She ain’t me.