What? You mean this isn't normal?

I have a confession to make. A slightly embarrassing confession, at that.

I get hit on. A lot.

But not at bars. No, that never happens. And not at the gym (as if I frequent the gym that much. HA! (my trainer's gym doesn't count)).

No. The only place I get hit on is at...

Stoplights.

Are you done laughing at me yet?

I'm serious, y'all. This happens on a semi-regular basis and, given the way it is done, I can't even be flattered. Not even a little bit. And the best/worst part is, it always happens when I am fully aware that I look like road-kill.

Do I look that hard up for a buck? Cuz I'm not, thanks.

Take the most recent situation: I was on my way home from volunteering at the hospital in my super cute (sarcasm) uniform (red polo, hair in a pony with a headband on), don't even know if I had makeup on, windows were down, country was blasting through the speakers. All of a sudden, two guys, who I believe were younger than me, started shouting at me from THREE lanes over.

The fact that there weren't any other cars at the light was a pretty good indication that they were talking to me. I looked over, peeking over the top of my shades, and the passenger said, and I quote (because this quote is too good to even try to forget), "Ay yo mizz thang. Waz good? You wanna kick it wit me and my boi for a while, cuz you lookin' good tonite!"

How I managed to suppress my laughter is beyond me.

I just stoically turned my head forward, pulled my arm back inside the car, and rolled up the window.

What else could I do?

But that didn't stop them. No, they just kept whistling at me. I gave a little wave and just kept praying that the never-ending red light would turn green.

Or how about the time I was hungover at college and was driving to get some pepto from the pharm. I was in sweats, had leftover makeup on from the night before, my hair in shambles and my glasses on. Of course, being the fool that I am, had my windows down.

Enter old man in his rusty old pickup truck.

"Hey! Hey you! Do you have a boyfriend or can I get yo numba and take you out on a date. I swear we have a real good time." *not a typo in the sentence. Honest.*

I said I had a boyfriend. But you all know that was a GIANT lie. At least I didn't have to play the, "I'm a lesbian" card. Which I will fully admit to having done. On several occasions.

And then the light turned green and I gunned it.

Situations like these have probably happened at least once every six months for the past few years.

And all I can say is, "Dear Lord, can you please send me a man who has a little bit of self respect? Please and thank you."

Yours Truly,


*Also, I want to say that everything I write on here is factual. I don't make up, lie, embellish, etc. to make it sound better. I hate when people do that and I like to keep it as real as possible, otherwise I just won't write about it. I warned you all that I don't have a filter, I speak then think. Remember? Besides, my mom reads this, and she would totally call me out on a lie. And that would be way too embarrassing.*