I'm not a racist. I'm certain. Like 90% certain.
I am sure that character flaw does not mean I should be forced to endure the current torture I do on a daily basis. It's really hard to swallow the racist mongrels that taunt me on the way to work. They come yelling at my heels like rabid dogs.
But get this, the reason I know that they're racist is because they only go for me when I have the legs of my pants rolled up. You know, "nerdy - i'm on my way to work and don't want to look like a tractor took an oil pee on me" style rolled up pants.
I could go past with everything covered but my eyes and they would leave me alone. Cover everything up and they ignore you, show the tiniest interest in them or the slightest flash of a white leg under your jeans and they'll be running alongside with no friendly intentions. Racists.
I don't think I'd mind a racist parrot, screaming profanities at me each morning as I wake up. Or perhaps a cat so incensed at the colour of the curtains that it rips them down while you are away. But a gang of 4 dogs waiting on the corner to 'have a chat' with me each morning really chomps the biscuit.
Sometimes I have to make an important decision. Slow down at the intersection or have my skin pierced by viscious teeth? Weigh up the options, under the wheels of that bus? Or accept a mauling from 4 potentially rabies infested rabid black dogs?*
*I'm not entirely sure but "rabies infested rabid" might mean the same thing...
1 comment:
I really adore how your writing has grown, Robbo.
You've always been one of my favourites, but you never cease to amaze me.
I know I've been horridly quiet on the comment front, but I have this thing called Google Reader which allows me to read each post you do right from the inside of my email. It's fantastic.
Hope you have tons of fun with your mates when you're with them again.
xoxox
Oh, ps: the word verification happens to be 'corne', the name of my first ever boyfriend. He was quite the asshole.
/end random anicdote.
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