Flowers In The Traffic
Well, today will go down in history, at least my personal history, as the first time a guy (or in this case, guys) ever gave me flowers!
I know that must come as a shock, dear reader, but it's true; so pick yourself up off the floor. I realise that you must be expecting that a girl as funny, and charming, and intelligent, and attractive, and caring, and selfless, and MODEST (and, let's face it, as bourgeois) as me must be getting flowers every other day. Well, it's not so! I am the girl that the boys buys graphic novels* for, not roses and chocolates and oversized teddy bears that they win at coconut-shies when the carnival is in town. (I actually like graphic novels, but when three separate guys buy them for you INDEPENDENTLY of each other, you have to wonder what impression you must be giving off...)
Anyway, back to my story. As I was walking home this evening a car pulled up in front of me as I was crossing the road and a bunch of young men with rolled down windows started talking to me. At first I just kept walking and ignored them because, frankly, this happens a lot. Some guys seem to think that it's a winning tactic to loudly inform girls that they are fine examples of the fair sex, from the safety of moving vehicles. Some of them are obviously just chicken shit and can't deal with rejection, but I think that some of them actually believe that a girl might get into their car for some goooood lovin'. (If you are one of these guys, can I just tell you now that it will never happen. Get a life.) For the record, when I say that this happens to me a lot, I'm not being up myself. It actually has got a lot more to do with where I live than my actual level of "hotness". In case you didn't know, if you live in Brunswick, walk around in the streets enough, and have a vagina, you are likely to be accosted in this manner with alarming frequency whether you look like Scarlett Johansson or the Elephant Man (well, the Elephant woMan, at any rate).
So, I ignored these guys until I realised that they were holding out pink carnations (incidentally, these were my favourite flower when I was 5 years old) from the car window. I grabbed a couple, thanked them, and pretended not to notice that they were yelling after me;
"Give us your number!!!"
I mean, that kind of ruins the sweetness and romance of the encounter, don’t you think?
So, yeah, there's another stupid and confused vignette from my charmed, middle-class existence. The moral of the story is... Umm... Sometimes former tomboys who have turned into cynical, overly-critical, and scathing women get flowers... But only from people who don't know them and want a blow job.
---
* - long comics that are bound like proper books.
I know that must come as a shock, dear reader, but it's true; so pick yourself up off the floor. I realise that you must be expecting that a girl as funny, and charming, and intelligent, and attractive, and caring, and selfless, and MODEST (and, let's face it, as bourgeois) as me must be getting flowers every other day. Well, it's not so! I am the girl that the boys buys graphic novels* for, not roses and chocolates and oversized teddy bears that they win at coconut-shies when the carnival is in town. (I actually like graphic novels, but when three separate guys buy them for you INDEPENDENTLY of each other, you have to wonder what impression you must be giving off...)
Anyway, back to my story. As I was walking home this evening a car pulled up in front of me as I was crossing the road and a bunch of young men with rolled down windows started talking to me. At first I just kept walking and ignored them because, frankly, this happens a lot. Some guys seem to think that it's a winning tactic to loudly inform girls that they are fine examples of the fair sex, from the safety of moving vehicles. Some of them are obviously just chicken shit and can't deal with rejection, but I think that some of them actually believe that a girl might get into their car for some goooood lovin'. (If you are one of these guys, can I just tell you now that it will never happen. Get a life.) For the record, when I say that this happens to me a lot, I'm not being up myself. It actually has got a lot more to do with where I live than my actual level of "hotness". In case you didn't know, if you live in Brunswick, walk around in the streets enough, and have a vagina, you are likely to be accosted in this manner with alarming frequency whether you look like Scarlett Johansson or the Elephant Man (well, the Elephant woMan, at any rate).
So, I ignored these guys until I realised that they were holding out pink carnations (incidentally, these were my favourite flower when I was 5 years old) from the car window. I grabbed a couple, thanked them, and pretended not to notice that they were yelling after me;
"Give us your number!!!"
I mean, that kind of ruins the sweetness and romance of the encounter, don’t you think?
So, yeah, there's another stupid and confused vignette from my charmed, middle-class existence. The moral of the story is... Umm... Sometimes former tomboys who have turned into cynical, overly-critical, and scathing women get flowers... But only from people who don't know them and want a blow job.
---
* - long comics that are bound like proper books.
posted by divinetrash at 9:07 PM
5 Comments:
Oh. Fuck, I was going to give you flowers. This kind of ruins it.
Anonymous: No! I still want flowers! It'll be the first time someone has given me flowers whose name I know. That's an important first.
Daniel: Next time you and Tash are driving somewhere, I'm sure she won't mind slowing down so you can yell provocative comments at other girls. She's an understanding sort of girl, really.
Russ: I'm more angry at Ms. Austen for writing a story that (eventually) gave Keira Knightly another reason to poison the screen.
Don't blame Jane Austen! She never wrote about how Lizzie pouted about Lydia and Wickham. Or pouted about her love for Mr Darcy. Or pouted about anything, as Miss Knightley seems so intent upon doing.
Colin Firth, however, would have weakened the knees of Jane in a moment.
Jane Austen sucks.
Great post Al, I cross promoted it in my sexyland entry so Go Us!
It's amazing the amount of romance you can find in cars these days; on Sunday I was parking in St Kilda and these guys were "romancing" me from their car window asking for my number and stuff.I didnt want to appear rude so I yelled out my number to them and sent them a copy of my address along with my birth certificate and a list of the nightspots I hang out at.Hooray for love!
sigh...I love your tales of truth and beauty....you rock princess!
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