Dear men of the world;
Kindly cut the following three things all the way out;
1)Honking at me while you drive by in your car.
What, exactly, is supposed to be my response to that? Am I supposed to step out of my heels and sprint behind your hooptie in gratitude?
2)Offering to put a smile on my face with any object other than a joke.
This happened today. My response, to paraphrase, was to ask if the gentleman in question actually owned one of the objects in question, and if so, did he actual know how to use it in company or only solo?
Seriously, soap is cheap, water is free. And if you don’t use them, you are nasty.
None of the above will get you my phone number. Seriously, what are you even thinking?
I’m not much of a feminist but y’all are for damn sure trying to turn me into one.
P.S.; for today’s song clip, we have the one and only Notorious B.I.G. Say what you will about the way he referred to women in his songs, but at least he knew he had to have actual conversations with us in order to get anywhere.
Today’s title…( and by the way, that’s a bomb-azz movie and you should watch it.)
You are a disgusting place. You are filthy and dirty and the smell in the Metro station this morning actually made me cry. The people are pretty cool and the food is world-renowned, but I’m scared to interact much with either because they’re always in such manknasty surroundings.
However, you do have the Louvre, La Tour Eiffel and L’Arc De Triomphe. So I guess I’ll come back.
P.S. How do you say biohazard suit in French?