Hey Mister, Your Fly Is Open

That Slut-Bucket

Ricky looked at me then, and took a deep breath, “I told him that I had a girlfriend.”

Laughter is the best medicine, but not when it’s coming from the one who’s inflicting the pain. I laughed anyway, to which he pushed me to the side and yanked his hand out of my grip, “Why would you do that?”

“Because I had one at the time, she broke up with me the next day for my best friend.”

Ouch. I felt bad then, like really bad, like a pile of shit bad. My face that had once been so evilly contorted (some evil look I guess *shrug*) became a vignette of sympathy and sadness, “I-I’m so sorry.”

So you see what I said next was only because I was trying to be a good friend, “I’ll do it.”

Maybe sometimes I’m an evil bitch, but I can’t stand to stump on someone’s heart when they are already broken.

“Really?”

I nodded quickly, “Yeah.”

But hell, I’m not that much of a sucker, “On one condition.”

“Anything.”

“You write my seminar paper for English.”

“Piece of cake, I got it.”

I was a little weirded out that he agreed so easily. It was my first favor of him after all but all I knew of Ricky is that he was one sneaky son of a bitch when he wanted to be. What other way could you explain my taking his shift three times for nothing at all? Hell I didn’t even get a bag of chips for his hell of a shift. He did have the worst shifts back then, but as a soon to be graduated Senior he made the best of it.

Shh…he was still a sneaky son of a bitch.

He prepped me for the entire ordeal, he went over characteristics and family members that would show up and the occasional drama that might unfold.

“How will your mom react to your black girlfriend?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. I just need a date.”

I sipped my sorry excuse for a cup of coffee overdosed with cream and sugar before I replied, “Soooo….have you ever dated a black girl before?”

You should’ve seen his face. SO FUCKING FUNNY. This weird red color took over and I swear he looked like a tomatoe about to be roasted on a grill.

“No.” He muttered.

So I had to prep HIM, “You know, dating a black girl is different from dating any other girl.”

“But we’re not really da—“

“Shhh,” I silenced him with one finger and continued, “You see, black girls don’t take no shit. We run shit. Big shit. Lotsa shit.”

“So you shit?” He smirked.

At that point I could’ve thrown my milky coffee in his face and told the Starbucks manager that some guy was trying to pimp me on the block just for a show, but I held my peace and continued.

“Anyways, we don’t play that. So when I tell you to hop like a bunny, you betta hop damnit!”

In all honesty I didn’t mean anything I was saying, I think the sugar rush had me saying some crazy things, especially that black girl analogy (tee hee hee).

He reached across the table then and took the cup of coffee out of my hand, “I think you’ve had too much of this.”

“Hey!” I pouted and reached for it again.