Today, at the office, a boy told the security guard after I’d gone upstairs that I was “hot.” I LAUGH. He then preceded to ask about my college, on account of noticing my class ring, and inquire as to whether I had been a cheerleader. I LAUGH EVEN LOUDER. And then, THEN, he gave the security guard his number to give to me.
A few things of significance:
1. The entire time he was making these comments, the security guard was text messaging me and I, in my office one floor above, was in hysterics.
2. Whoa, boy. If you want to ask me out, do it yourself. I hardly return phone calls. I never make them.
3. I WAS DRESSED LIKE A BUMBLBEE. Black shirt, yellow Anthro skirt, grey pumps. Guess he wasn’t frightened I would sting.