I was walking in North Philly when I saw a woman walking down the sidewalk. She had long flowing multi-colored fake hair (the texture clearly did not match her edges) fake eyelashes, affected eyebrows, acrylic nails, video make up, and a sundress that smacked that ass.
I was wondering if she knew how much of her was untruthful and whether it bothered her that she was a billboard for distortion.
Two men approached her and I wondered if they would see though her guise.
Both men turned their heads and catcalled her. Whistled and claimed their intentions for her.
It was not matrimony.
That is when it dawned on me. This woman went through hours of plucking, pulling, pushing, sewing, tucking, rolling, applying, gluing to create a vision in order to entice men into her world.
What she sees when she looks in her mirror is a reflection of every movie siren from Diane Carol to Kerrie Washington. She glides, drastically made up, out her front doors to mental soundtracks supplied by John Legend and Anthony Hamilton, a ghetto fairytale, inspire by video backdrops, reality tv extras and a lack of esteem. She believes she is dressed for the ball. Cinderella’s glass slipper is a laced front.
She smiles as these men approach.
They smile not smelling the stench of cinders trailing behind her.
But it does not matter. Because it takes less than 10 seconds for these men to size her up. The same amount of time it takes to flip through a skin mag or click through photos of half naked chicks before he finds “the one.”
One takes the lead.
He sized her up in less than 15 seconds because he plans to invest nothing more into her. He would not take this woman home to his mother, or hold her hand in front of his boys. She is not of that caliber.
So her fake doesn’t bother him. She is no different to him than the photos he Google’s to masturbate to. She is the live version and he will only have to deal with her fake long enough to cum.
If he spent an iota of a moment more than that with her; he would insist she remove the weave, the contacts, the nails the lashes, and dress casual.
“I love it when you’re natural baby.”
But she won’t likely hear that from him. He’s already sized her up and deemed her disposal.
I wonder if she understood when she walked out her house today; that she was quite the picture.