What Humble Did: Got Eye Boned At The Gas Station

What Humble Did


The part of the show where I tell you about something strange/exciting/nonimportant/noteworthy/and/or/sexual


Remember that one time I told you that I went to my kids school with period pants? No not last week... that other time.

Well something really similar happened today with the similar part being I was a tore back shade of Humble that has been sweating through the million degree (okay a little exaggeration) and 90 percent humidity (totally not an exag...I fact checked this with the pit sweat on my towels that I wear fresh out of the shower) wearing pants and 2 days worth of grime because showers seem to be rather pointless when you're sweating out the last of your breastmilk while YOU ARE DRYING OFF. Oh and why have I been wearing pants? Because bear legs. I have just been lazy and have not shaved in awhile. Usually this bothers me in no way, but because of this sweaty crotch weather, the hairs on my legs make me feel even sweatier and hotter than normal. Wearing pants seems reasonable to at least mask the friction between fur and legs but it's obviously not a very well thought out plan. There is a reason no one has ever said I have street smarts, ya know.

So there I was at the gas station today, bear legs under wraps and sweating to the point that I might actually be burning cellulite from baby #3 circa 2005, hair is a wreck, doing that half ass pony tail that I kind of brushed but not really, because lifting my arms is exercise and there is no exercise in Africa. I am not a fucking gazelle being chased. I am a human who is stank ass hot. My peeps are white and from the North. We eat butter and feast on potatoes which go directly to our thighs cuz our DNA might be scared of another Great Depression. Which could also explain my body hair problem. You never know when shit is gonna hit the fan and Pa could lose his job at the factory, in the middle of the snow, uphill both ways, leaving us to have to sell our blankets.

Also, I am going to mention how totally sexy I was feeling through all of this. Sweat, grime, hairy as nature/nurture intended, and in period denial. Kind of gotta period....but wishing it away....paper toweling it up over here. Buying pads is acceptance and IT AIN'T YOUR WEEK...so fuck off V zone...you get Brawny as punishment, because fuck you. Nothing makes sense in this Tom Cruise forsaken heat. The reason I was even at the gas station was to buy those .99 cent tall cans of sugar water because I am pretty sure I have sweated out the last of my carbohydrates and whathaveyou as I was buckling Jedi into his car seat. I had to dig around for a bit to find change to pay for the drink because I was totally unprepared for a desert throat situation and as I was digging around I happened to look up and I saw him.........

You know hiiiiiiiiiim. The guy who is always a little too happy to be watching you pump gas, gazing at you, caressing your hair with his lips from 17 feet away, watching you as if you were a prize to behold. He is the creeper guy "Guy" who has been offering his services either by laying on a cool line like "what's that taste like?" (and you aren't even eating anything) and "mmmmmmmmMMMMMMMMM girl" since you looked like you might possibly be 17 and a half. Dream Weaver is what I like to call him.

So I notice Dream Weaver starting to pump his gas in the car ahead of me while I am searching for change. I am trying to make this as quick as possible because I must drink something NOW, and I can't help noticing him, noticing me. It always takes me a little while to figure out what intentions someone has for looking at me for longer than 1.5 seconds. Nice? Friendly? Weird? On ecstasy and looking for a dance partner?  But at this point, I have glanced at least 5 times to double triple check and this motherfucker is NOT looking anywhere but at me, which is awesomely confusing because I am sporting kitten pits which is mostly frowned upon in modern society. After I notice him noticing me and wipe the froth that has formed at my forehead I  go inside and quickly come back to the car with my already cracked open and half guzzled drink. I get my purse and drink situated and I look up and he is holding the gas nozzle like a dick. Pushing his junk into it and everything.  I am immediately amused as I am already starting my car and will avoid any and all verbal contact with this person knowing that I am safely on my way out of there, making this all the more hilarious. I back up and pull out to the side of his car to make my way for the exit. As I do, he is yelling what I made out to be "bbbhdbscjdc sweetheart djsddkjdl number?" and as he's yelling he is walking towards my van. Except he forgot he was holding the gas nozzle and it rips out of his hand and gas just goes EVERYWHERE. All over his shoes, all over the back of his car, it was a wreck.


And then I had an insane thought.
He might actually be my soul mate from another parallel universe. Gas nozzle humping, spray painting flammable fluids.....that's actually quite impressive if you think about it.


End Scene.

xoxo Humble