I originally published this 3 years ago, but re-reading it now, I just had to share – again.
Yesterday, God decided that I needed to be brought low.
You see, I think I’m the bee’s knees.
I’ve always thought that I was a handsome dude (really ever since I got my first piece of a**), so whenever I’m out, there’s typically a peacock strut happening.
Yesterday was no exception.
I had gone into Jersey City to see my friend, and was headed home, when I stopped into the Starbucks on the corner of Park and Church street in Montclair, to pick up a Green Tea Frappuccino for wifey.
As the weather has been nice and balmy, the people were out, and there were plenty folks milling about, enjoying the pleasant weather.
I stepped out of my freshly washed ride, opened my plume and strutted into Starbucks, aware that all eyes were on me (at least in my head).
Placed my order with the female barista. Stop staring, honey, my shine is so bright you’ll hurt your eyes.
Waited for my drink next to another redbone obviously checking me out. Notice my ring finger babe. Hate to disappoint, but I’m spoken for.
Pass another biddy on the way out the door. You actin’ like you aint lookin’, but I know you peeped my steeze when I first walked in. Stop fronting!
Note: Oh my sh*t is ridiculous!
As I step out of Starbucks, there’s this hot red drop top (‘convertible’ for the urban linguistically challenged) with a fly sister perched in the passenger side, parked behind my Jeep.
Of course, I’ve got to pass IN FRONT of her ride to get to mine, and I’m abundantly aware of the fact that I will be eye candy for her as I pass.
Plume opened and magnificent. Check.
Swagger on 10. Check.
Big Pimpin’ soundtrack playing in my head. Check.
I could write out the rest of this little episode, but better you hear it from the horse’s mouth…
And that’s why I need to get over myself.
If you’ve got a story of vanity gone wrong, I’d love to hear about it.