I Don't Work For You

I was walking to my car from the Saturday farmer’s market, wearing sweat pants. There was a man standing in his garden, and he stopped what he was doing, stood up, and turned completely around to watch me walk across the street. He said, “Mmm…. Work that pretty ass. Work it.” When I turned to shoot a fierce look at him, he gave me a huge smile, as if that was the most original “compliment” I’d ever heard. I have just been sick for the past three months. I definitely wasn’t working anything. I couldn’t get the image of his stupid face out of my head for the rest of the day. GRRRR!!!