Darkside Rainbow

I know I said I wouldn’t be back until Monday, but I had to take a break from working on my articles to share this.

This morning in Wal-Mart, I got my a** pinched by some random little Hispanic rent-a-tart.

I swear to gods, every time I go into that store is an utterly surreal experience. The stories I could tell…

This time I was quite calmly perusing the men’s grooming section, trying to pick out a decent rotary shaver for under $100 and completely lost in my own world, when I heard a simpering murmur of “aiy, Papi” and suddenly felt the sharp sting of two fingers doing a quick topographical survey of my nether regions and possibly trying to snatch a sample of topsoil for further study (he pinched hard; that hurt!). I nearly jumped out of my skin, whirled around, and there was this tarted-up little culo, smiling at me like I’d just told him he’d won Diana Ross’s part in a Broadway adaptation of Lady Sings the Blues.

I admit that at first, I had no idea what to say. No witty retorts tripped off my tongue; no scathing remarks cut him down to size. I was too flabbergasted that I’d just been groped by a total stranger in the supermarket, all while minding my own business.

“Did you think that was cute?” I managed, amazed irritation dripping from every word. He actually batted his eyelashes at me.

I sh*t you not. I felt like I was dealing with a cross between RuPaul and Scarlett O’Hara.

“I think you’re cute, Papi.”

I suppose I should have been flattered. Instead I was just aggravated by the most crass, trashy, tasteless pickup attempt I’ve experienced in years, even if you have to give the boy credit for having the balls to pull something like that with a completely unknown entity. I guess he saw what he wanted, and he went for it. That takes courage. It’s also annoying as hell.

When I’m annoyed, I get a little caustic. Especially with uninvited physical contact.

“Mmkay.” I crooked my finger at him, beckoning him closer. “C’mere. I need to know you’re listening to me. You listening?”

He wiggled - yes, wiggled, I swear he made me look as straight as Chuck Norris - closer and smiled up at me, admittedly rather sweetly, and lisped, “Si, Papi, I’m listening.”

“Good.” I mustered the best smile I could, which probably looked more like a pained grimace. “Because I want to make sure you understand: if you ever touch me again, I will break your sh*t off. Mmkay, pumpkin?” Now granted, I stole that line from Alex Hitchins, but it was extraordinarily useful in that situation.

He pouted. I grabbed the Norelco I’d been eyeing and fled to the cash register.

I’m just…left in awe, honestly, that anyone of any orientation would think that was an acceptable way to approach someone. I suppose he thought since he was tiny and cute, I wouldn’t hurt him. If so, he was right, in a way; I wouldn’t hurt him, because despite my consistent snarling and threats I’m a primarily non-violent person. Basically I’m a harmless, crotchety old bastard. My friends know this and take delight in baiting me.

He didn’t know that, though. I could have turned around to plow a fist into his face. He was half my size, and I could have done some serious damage to him all because he decided to provoke me. Not smart. Not smart at all. I hope he doesn’t try pulling that on a meaner guy (or a straight guy angry that the little rent-a-tart’s gaydar missed the mark that time); he could get seriously hurt, and that’s a hard lesson to learn where a little common sense would suffice.

Besides, I really prefer a “hello, what’s your name” before anyone tries to cop a feel.

Honestly, what happened to a little tact and subtlety?

culo, rent-a-tart, why the hell are you grabbing my derriere