You Will Never Guess What I Saw! - A Collection of Short Stories

"A Whole New Meaning"

I was talking with my sister about the latest craze in abbreviations: SMH. She told me that she discoverd what it means... by way of a customer in her store.

She was talking to one of the girls she works with while putting away shoes. "Grace", she said, "do you know what 'SMH' means? It's all over Facebook". Before Grace could answer a customer was like "Smuh? It's Smuh, like ugh! You use it the same". Everyone in the store is trying to suppress their giggles while Grace subtly enlightens them both, "Sweetheart, it's Shaking My Head".

Luckily, the customer got a laugh out of it himself. But *our* new thing? Girl, it's Smuh!

"Shimmy with me Africa!!"

Friday was Mrs.G's birthday and to celebrate she invited us girls out for sushi. The restaurant and atmosphere were fabulous. I knew this in advance so I figured that I would dress accordingly. Black dress with bright red accents. Plus my stunner studs! You already know.

After dinner, we trekked to a delightful spot called Level. When you go there at night in the spring and fall, they take all of the panes out of the windows. It's so chic!

We go upstairs and a very obviously gay man (who was so sweet and deliciously fun) was giving me the eye. I wave and apparently that opened the gates to hugs, European kisses, Latin dancing, and yes, a shimmy. He was so great and even nicknamed me "Africa". I heart you, Brian from L.A.

"Street Walker"

I spent a ton of Saturday night hoofing it around this fair city. I had forgotten how much I loved the lights, the energy, and the hustle of the people until I set out to each new destination. I was on my way back to my car when I realized that I was no longer in the Stilettos district and I was firmly planted in Birkenstock district.

It was fun to have the locals eye me with jealousy, wondering which fabu party I *must* be headed to. I loved the way the men stared as I passed them leaving the deep scents of chocolate, white peony, patchouli and vanilla behind me. I loved the glares from the other girls covered to their flip-flopped toes in over sized sundresses.

I... almost broke a heel. Apparently, they don't believe in repaving the sidewalks out there in the Birkenstock district. Gravel reeks havoc on the balls of ones feet and munches a stiletto's heel to dust. But that's OK because before the night was over I got a "Oh my gosh! How are *you* doing?". Who cares if he never calls, that guy made my night.


"Don't Be a Slave"

Once a month, Big Poppa and I will go to the comedy club for some laughs. This past Wednesday, we did our usual do. He wore dark jeans, a lavender shirt, and gorgeous crocodile shoes. I wore an orange ruched dress, new turquoise baubles, and my killer J. Simp gold paintbrush platforms. We looked stellar as always.

Side note: Whenever I'm with Big Poppa I feel like a rockstar. He never hesitates to tell me how beautiful I am. It helps, of course, that I put my best foot forward and aim to make the other guys jealous, but it does help to know that he appreciates it.

The show was hilarious and we had a great time. He learned the art of getting cheap drinks and I learned to keep my mouth shut when women walk by in horrendous outfits. I mean, seriously!

One woman wore leggings (as pants!) that had cut outs in them from her ankle to her thigh. Really? Really?!? And then she paired it with a t-shirt. Really? Do they not have mirrors where she lives? Did she not pass a pane of glass?

Then there was the frumpy mother. Or grandmother. Or spinster more likely. She's a plus-sized girl like myself. But when I want to step out, I pull something spectacular from my closet, usually purchased from SizeAppeal.com. Sheeeee wore black gauchos (!), a faded olive green woven halter top that was too big and sagged around her chest and back (ugh!), and black espadrilles (harrumph!). To make it all worst, she hadn't done her hair or makeup. Aaaaaand she had toilet paper on her shoe!

Now I'm a nice person, so I definitely helped her get the toilet paper from her shoe. And I didn't express my concern over her wardrobe choices. But if there were anything at all that I would have said, it'd just be to wear clothes that fit. If you try to hide your body it looks like you're wearing a tent. And then I would slap the shit out of her skinny friend who looked impeccable.

Because I'm in the Mood

I've never had a "Best Friend".

Wait. That's a lie.

I haven't had a best friend since 1989. Her name was Melanie and she lived next door. I thought we were going to be best friends forever. I was six. What did I know?

I knew that she was the only person I could tell all my secrets to. I knew that she was better than a sister because I was never bored with her. I knew that we were going to be friends forever.

And I was soooo wrong. Just about the third part though. Because the rest of it is still true to this day. But when my family moved away from Panama, I thought that Melanie was coming too. I was wrong again. And it hurt so badly that I promised myself that I would never have another best friend.

I was right that time. It totally made sense for me to not let anyone else in because after the 3 years in California my family moved every year. Every year!!

Can you imagine if I'd spread my secrets all over the globe like that?!? Ay Carumba!

Most people think that I'm cold. Some call me elitest. Others go straight for the heart and say that I'm prejudiced. And I'm not going to say that any of them are wrong. But they left out the part about being changed.

I never knew, or rather had forgotten, what it would be like to have a best friend. That person that you tell your secrets to. The one that accepts you for 100% of yourself. Someone who forgives you your trespasses even if you dont know you trespassed. The friend whose house you can walk into and have a meal or raid the fridge. The first person you call when things are going bad AND when they're good.

I forgot that until today at 5pm on the dot. That's when Mrs. G called me. She called because when everything about this week became too much and went to hell I told her. And she called at the first opportunity.

It occured to me after I hung up the phone that she weaseled her way into my measly little heart. Mrs. G, I just wish you'd told me that you were a ninja. We could've used your skills for profit. =)

As I strolled through the mall with my fresh-from-the-oven peacn Cinnabon and on my BFF high, I passed Panera Bread and said to myself "this would be way better than Taco Bell".

I stroll in and break away from my normal meal of pick two-ness and decide on a cafe sandwich. I just want the turkey one without mustard. She takes my order, she picked the wrong bread. We fix that and I pay. The kid on the assembly line says, "How do you make a Sierra Turkey without mustard".

Got damn that prick!!

Prick: How do you make a Sierra Turkey without mustard? *teenage boy snicker*

Me: I don't like mustard. Don't put mustard on it.

Prick: How am I supposed to do that? heh. heh.

Me: Just don't. It's a fresh-made sandwich. How hard can it be?

Nice Girl at Register: I would think it'd be easier with fewer ingredients.

Nice boy beginning my sandwich: Dude, just stop.

Prick: Well then what are we supposed to put on it.

NB: Do you want mayo still? And lettuce?

Me: Yes, please. Whatever comes on it just not mustard.

Prick: Where'd you even get mustard?

Me (ready to punch his mustachioed face): It says it comes with mayo, mustard, lettuce, tomato, onion, salt and pepper. I don't want mustard.

NB: I can add tomato if you'd like.

Me: That's fine.

Prick: Only the ham and swiss and the country turkey come with that stuff. You got the Sierra Turkey.

Me: IS MY DISDAIN FOR MUSTARD GOING TO BE A PROBLEM!!!!!! BECAUSE I AM MORE THAN WILLING TO TELL YOUR MANAGER HOW MY CONDIMENT PREFERENCE IS AN ISSUE FOR YOU.

Prick: *heavy teenage boy sigh* I'm just saying you were wrong.

Greg (the only person in a Panera shirt over 21 and therefore the likely Shift Manager): Hello Ma'am. Is everything alright with your sandwich.

Me: Yes. Nice Boy made my sandwich perfectly. But Prick... he has a thing about mustard.

Yup. It happened just like that.