While walking to the gym a while back in my recently rediscovered, form fitting Lululemon long pants, a woman passing beside me on the sidewalk to my right reaches out and touches my right buttock with her intricately manicured left hand.
My first instinct, as is the norm for most reasonable people, was to believe it was an accident caused by the reciprocal swinging of her arms in gait propulsion, one of those innocuous brushes that we just pretend didn’t happen so as not to cause undue awkwardness or embarrassment to all parties involved.
Then I felt it again, almost immediately, with nary a refractory period. It was different this time. Forceful yet curious. Scientific.
I turn, as that was unexpected, and while maintaining my purposeful stride look at her quizzically.
She matches my pace, meets my gaze, and says simply:
It’s so soft!
To which, obviously, in a flash of seething anger burst forth my acrid retort:
HOW DARE YOU?! I do a lot of squats for that ass!
Without breaking stride she says: “I was talking about your pants.”
And with those 6 words, and accompanying punctuation, all was right in the world again.
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