Cheap bastards...

There's nothing that pisses me off more than cheap bastards. The kind who ask you out by yelling at you across the street. The kind who say they think your "ya-yas" look "fiiiine".  The kind who wear knock-off Lacoste T- shirts and jeans belted on their knees. The kind who think the reason you wear less clothing in the summer is to get their attention and not make the national heatwave bearable.

Sure wearing low tops is not unlike an invitation for men to spare a peak at the lovely female anatomy budding underneath, but there's a time limit to what's socially acceptable. Isn't "socially acceptable" what separates us from dogs in heat? But I digress...

It's just a pain that every time you go downtown, at least one bastard is waiting to pounce on every evidence of female genitalia in front of every metro station, bus station, shop, boutique or even Starbucks. We shop to forget about men, remember?

I have never seen it work for them either! What do you need to get a hint?

Maybe I'm just too quick to judge the cheap bastards. Maybe they'll find the love of their lives years before us "uptight bitches". Maybe the crocodile on their shirt is really Lacoste, hence making them just bastards. Maybe one day, I'll be happy for a guy to yell about my "ya-yas" across the street. 

Then again... Maybe not.