Strike Three

I’m beginning to think that I’m jinxed, scratch that I know that I am jinxed. I’m beginning to think that The Man is trying to drill the point home with unprecedented precision. Three days ago, on January-frickin-27th…the weirdest thing happened to me. And yes, this was weirder than the time I talked to my hair dryer after surviving my first post-waste epiphany. This was downright wrong. For the record, I am aware that I am severely romantically challenged. I am also aware that I have 'issues'… which apparently is the new buzz word for problems because those only exist in terms of hunger, famine and disease. And I grant that those are a big deal.

Despite my numerous ‘issues’, I like to think that I’m polite, even if I tend to be a wallflower and prefer my own company most of the time. On the fateful day, while driving to work I was doing just that. I was minding my own business. I was looking right in front of me and minding my own DAMN business, until a man on a bicycle came and parked right next to my window as we were both waiting for the god forsaken light to kick gear. I have been told and I have picked up from priceless Pakistani experience that when men stare at you - and this is seldom a question of ‘when’ more than an answer to ‘whenever’- that the only way to ‘deal’ is to look straight ahead and ignore the catcalls, come-ons and subsequent car chases whenever they occur. This usually works and so that’s what I did. I suppose it goes without saying that bicycle man was staring…he was. Suddenly I heard a tapping on my car window - and in the naïve folly that is my complete and utter ignorance regarding the paramount perversion that men are capable of - I whipped my head around to utter a few ‘ladylike’ expletives (I am told ‘Idiot’ and ‘bastard’ now fit this bill) until I noticed something that made me jerk my head back and start pleading that God would - for once - ignore our mutual communication lapses, listen to me and click the signal ‘GO’. But God was on a rampage to prove a point.
And prove it He did.

Bicycle man was jerking off in the middle of the street, at the busiest traffic hour, in lane three and on – just in case it requires reiteration – a bicycle right next to my window. Which - had I, the stomach to not heave by looking again - would have provided me the premiere view of It-that-shall-not-be-named.

I give up. I really do.

My male friends, after swallowing their laughter, have told me to acknowledge that this isn’t really common and its not like everyone does it,at least not in public they said. Both are valid points, but the fact that anyone does it still bugs me. The fact that men are capable of being this sick is well…sick.
Were this a batting ring, I’d call in my third strike. First base was when I was fifteen; it was bad, really bad and I had braces so it was worse. Second base was a mammogram for fear of breast cancer, luckily the doctor’s face has now lost all conscious resonance in my skull.
The third base preview was…this.

Like I said, I give up.