Nice produce
I lived in New York a little less than four years. In that time, I learned to conserve going to the grocery store, even when I had a car. The less you buy, the less you have to haul upstairs. Endless, affordable restaurant selections make the decision to eat out that much easier.
A four- or six-aisle market was never a pleasant shopping experience. You go in, you get out. You don’t cruise for ass in these markets. My first ‘motherload’ at the grocery store in Marina Del Ray was interesting. Grocery stores are supposed to be notorious pick-up joints, but that has never been my experience. Today was different.
Let me remind you that I’m still fair-skinned. My rear end is so white, it could guide planes into LAX. My hair is still auburn. I have yet to see a redhead on my side of town. My boobs are still big and organically grown. I’m still 5’10” and today I’m 37.5 years old. Combine all these ingredients and you have a recipe for “oh my gosh, she isn’t from these parts.”
Men were checking me out. ME. It was kind of cool at first, then I realized I was getting looks because I was different. The kind of looks I remembered I got in 9th grade when I showed up for high school in the fall in thrift store seconds and it appeared everyone else had brand new, stiff 501s or Jordache jeans.
I mastered my technique by aisle five of 27. I’d lock eyes with the guy and right as our carts would get ready to pass, I’d lick my lips. Yeah, I’m different. I’m REAL and I’m going to fuck with you sunworshipping-tofu-eatting-motherfuckers.
There’s new meat in town and her name is Marna.