The Blacktress Does It Again

Guys, this is getting ridiculous.

I was walking across 12th street during my lunch hour, and I was stopped on the corner of 6th avenue, waiting for the light to change. As I stared off into space, enjoying the taste of summer weather, a voice called to the blacktress.
"Excuse me, miss, could you help me cross the street?"
I look down and to my left and see the tiniest, most precious old White lady.
"Yes, of course," I say.
Then, there's an awkward moment, cause the light doesn't say "WALK" yet, but we've already established a relationship. So, I make some small talk.
"It's such a nice day, isn't it?"
"Yes. I had a hip replacement, and my balance isn't what it used to be."
She says this as my attempt at small talk was actually a probe into her personal health.
The light changed and we crossed.

Dude, how does this keep happening to me? Old ladies see me and just want me to help them get across the street.

And, just like last time, I think this a get-out-of-jail-free card for the next week or so.

I guess I don't need to worry about all that unprotected sex anymore--JK (rowling), guys!!!!

A Real Blacktress Gives Back

You'll never guess what I did yesterday, y'all.
I helped an old lady cross the street!!!

For real.

I fleed the plantation yesterday, and enjoyed the sunshine as I fortified my weary bones. Part of this involved getting my hair did in the Bronx-- you know, where the Dominican ladies will work it out. A blacktress can come in looking like Macy Gray and walk out looking like Pocahontas**!!!!!

Anyway, after applying burning chemicals to my scalp to deny my nubian nappiness, I left 2 hours later feeling hungry, kinda sweaty, but surprisingly grown and sexy. I put on my sunglasses as I stepped out into the sun's glare, which only increased the sexy feeling (and allow me to eye-fuck hotties without consent--holla!).

As I waited for the light to change across the Grand Concourse, I heard a voice behind me call out. A true New Yorker, I ignored the initial call, certain that I didn't know you, so I wasn't even going to invite a random conversationalist--or a dude hell-bent on calling me "shorty" or "ma" (paging Dr. Freud!). The voice repeated, this time softer, gentler, with a hint of an island accent. I turned around to see a small old woman resting on her cane. She held out her hand to me and the another young woman who was approaching the corner. "Can you please help me cross the street?" the old woman asked us. I hurried over, and grabbed her hand.

The Grand Concourse is a rough strip, and there are often accidents as people try to cross the quadruple-lane pavement. She was already about 4'11", and was wearing a parka on a 60-degree day, so I knew it was behoovy of me to come to the rescue.

It took us about 10 minutes to cross the street.

The whole time, she kept saying, "Thank you for being patient with me, the Lord will bless you," her sweet West Indian accent pouring into my ears sweeter than syrup.

I assured her I was in no rush, which I wasn't. Not only was I now feeling grown and sexy, I felt useful.

And she was totally right about being blessed. I knew she'd totes given me a "get out of jail free"--or, rather, "get into heaven VIP"--card.

Dude, I helped an old lady cross the street!! That doesn't even happen! Do you know what that means? I can steal candy from a baby, double park my imaginary moped, and kill a man just to watch him die--and totally break even!!! How awesome is that?

God, it feels good to help people.




**(have you ever heard the wolf cry????)