Category: Questions & Answers

one upside of it being so miserably hot out that i get to wear my bikini everywhere and nobody makes a fuss. well except old people. but whatever they don’t count

(submitted by: Anonymous)

The girl in the bikini stood quietly at the curb, waiting.

“Look at that,” said Harold.

“What?” replied Arthur.

“Open your damned eyes,” Harold growled, gesturing with his cane at the girl.

“What are you— holy hell.” Arthur stopped picking through his bag of nuts, almost dropping it in the process.

“If that ain’t— what is she thinking?” Harold squinted. “I can ‘bout see her cooter.”

“Don’t think they call it that anymore,” said Arthur, his eyes drawn to the junction of the girl’s legs. “It’s a— I dunno, I heard my granddaughters calling it a ‘vajayjay’ once.”

“What in the fuck is a ‘vajayjay’?” sneered Harold, his gaze lingering upon the same spot.

“Didn’t they used to have VJs on the MTV?” asked Arthur. He paused. “And I guess I got that neighbor, Vijay.”

“Look at this shit. She’s just gonna stand there like that, all hangin’ out,” said Harold. Without realizing it, his head swayed in time with her hips as she shifted impatiently from one foot to another. Then he too paused. “Wait— what in the fuckity-fuck are you on about?”

“Just thinking.” muttered Arthur.

“That what that was? Coulda fooled me.” Harold stabbed the air with his cane as she held up her phone and tilted her head. “Fuckin’ selfies. Somebody oughta do something.”

“What can you do?” sighed Arthur. “Nobody’s got any shame anymore.”

“Ain’t nobody should have to put up with floozies walkin’ around like that.” Harold’s voice grew louder. “Ain’t right, doin’ that to people.”

“Don’t reckon most people mind much,” speculated Arthur, who found himself minding not at all. “Just another slut, really.”

Harold glared at him, grunted, and returned to judging the girl.

“You going to say something?” Arthur saw Harold shifting in his chair. “You’re going to say something.”

“Damned right I am,” replied Harold. He stood, took a step forward, and struck the concrete with the worn rubber tip of his cane. The sound was less startling than he’d expected, and the girl —ten feet away, with her back to him— completely failed to notice. He tried again, to similar effect.

“She’s got those AirPlugs in, I bet,” Arthur suggested.

Harold sighed bitterly.

“Out here on the street corner, looking like a whore,” he said, emphasizing the last word. “Everything with a dick wantin’ to fuck her, and she don’t even bother to look around. Disgraceful.”

“You got to admit, she’d be a good fuck,” opined Arthur. “Got all the right parts in all the right places.”

“Admit it? That dirty bird oughta have it tattooed on her forehead!” Harold spat in her direction. “Bringin’ down the property values! That’s what she’s doin’!”

“‘Property values’?” Arthur chuckled. “You don’t own anything except your wrinkled old ass.”

“It’s— whatcha call it?” Harold tried spitting again, but his mouth was too dry. “Unsavory! It’s fuckin’ unsavory, is what it is.”

“Kids aren’t raised right these days, that much is true.” Arthur returned to rummaging through his bag of nuts. “You want a cashew?”

“No, I don’t want a fuckin’ cashew,” came the sharp reply. “And don’t go tryin’ to blame it on her raisin’. Ain’t nobody dressed her up like that and sent her out the door. Ain’t nobody taught her that shit was right.”

“Nobody stopping it, either,” observed Arthur, chewing contentedly.

Harold shot him an angry look.

“What the hell is anyone s’posed to do?” The cane once again became a baton, its movements emphasizing his disdain as he spoke. “Can’t beat sense into her like they could in the old days. Can’t lock her up in the house, like my granddaddy woulda done. Everybody’s soft now, and you can’t put a stop to nothin’ when you’re soft.”

Arthur shrugged. “So you just going to stand there complaining, or you going to sit back down and talk about the weather like the good Lord intended?”

Harold ignored him and took another step toward the blissfully unaware girl.

“Hey, ya piece of trash! HEY! Goddammit, look at me when I talk to you!” His fury and frustration mounting, Harold could no longer restrain himself. He threw a half-empty can of beer at her.

The can missed its mark, bouncing harmlessly near her feet. But a splash of Coors managed to land on her foot, and she turned on him in a sudden rage of her own. She ripped her headphones from her ears as she stared him down.

“What the fuck was that, Grandpa?” she demanded.

Harold took a step back and blinked. Arthur grinned.

“Well—“ he began.

“Well what?” She crossed her arms and cocked her head, as if she were addressing a small child.

“Well…” said Harold, trying not to cringe. He blinked. “Um, your Grandma called down from upstairs. She, uh… she said you don’t need to take no Uber to the beach.” He slumped noticeably. “Said I— said I should take you.”

“Oh!’ the girl said, in a way that signaled both apology and forgiveness. “Are you ready, then?”

Harold waved his hand sheepishly. “Yeah. Why don’t you run upstairs and get my car keys for me?”

She smiled and cheerfully trotted back inside the building, her assets bouncing as she went.

Arthur’s grin widened.

“Shut up,” muttered Harold, his shoulders sagging in resignation. “Got her off the corner, didn’t I?”