Apparently, the Summers Eve Isn't Working

After a huge binge purchase of bulk Easter candy at Eckards in Union Square--Robins Eggs, peppermint patties, and Cadbury Creme Eggs, if you MUST know--I bolted for the 4 train so I could get to my swim class in park slope. As always, Union Square was bustling with activity and people yelling, which I always seem to avoid without incident.

Not tonight, apparently.

A guy standing outside the subway stop was yelling out "Do you like rap? Do you like reggae?"

My answer to that would be no, and no. But I don't talk to strangers. And I was in a hurry.

Instead of targeting the next innocent bystander, he decided to go all apeshit on my ass.

"Racism will come back and get you" he pointed a finger at me {he was a black man}

{I guess ignoring strange men on the street who are yelling in my face means that I hate people of color?}

"Your life must be hell," he continued.

{Yes, I'm a miserable bitch. Thanks for noticing.}

"Your pussy must smell like..."

Whoa whoa whoa now. Why you gotta bring up the pussy? I mean, seriously dude, what did my pussy ever do to you?

I'm not really sure what he was going to say it smelled like, as I was halfway down the stairs at that point. And honestly, he was probably right. It had been a long day. I'd been to the gym. I needed a fucking shower. My vaginal area wasn't at its finest, I imagine.

Kudos to the misogynist for being so observant.

I guess I'll take my racist, rancid cunt to bed now.