To the guy in the truck who yelled. “Hey, bitch!” at me as I was biking home from the gym.
You: Male, late twenties to early thirties, black sleeveless shirt, tribal armband tattoo obviously dating from the time when your bicep muscle to fat ratio favored the muscle side of things, lip bulging with fresh chew.
Me: Female, late twenties, riding an awesome green and yellow Cannondale and wearing a white bike helmet (safety first!) waiting to cross the street at the corner of Lake Tahoe Blvd and Al Tahoe.
I considered your outburst during the rest of my ride home. While I first thought that I had unknowingly offended you – perhaps I strongly resemble an ex-girlfriend; maybe I had beaten you at bar trivia – I quickly realized what your exclamation must have been.
It was a declaration of affection. While you yelled, “Hey, bitch!” what you actually meant was “Oh, hey girl, I think you’re smoking hot in those extremely flattering gym clothes and that face-obscuring helmet. I’d like to take you out for beers and then try to get in your pants.”
I have to admit, “Hey, bitch!” is a lot quicker to say.
Though I am extremely sad I did not realize the true intent of your message immediately, I’m glad that I finally figured it out. While I am flattered by your interest in me, your truck is size “Overcompensating for Something”, so I’m going to have to turn you down.
Thanks though, and maybe work on your pick up lines. Other women might not be so perceptive, and just think that you’re a huge asshole.