Hilariously Disgusting

no time for NO2  crayon on paper  edition of 4 each $32,000 (9”x12”)
No Time for #2

August 17, 2012

Mr. Scabs got all knocked-out handsome Friday night.

He showered, wore something nice and splashed his face with that distinct man-smell, the smell that drives us women bananas.  As the babysitter stepped inside the house, Mr. Scabs stepped out the front door and closed it.


I couldn't help but giggle a little as I opened the door and he asked,

"Will you go on a date with me?"

I admit, I'm always a little frigid and distant.  But this night, I began to thaw.  We smiled and laughed.  We talked about real things.  We showed emotion and compassion.  I have notice such a change in his face.  A literal, physical change.   Post d-day 22 months, it's as if the darkness is no longer there.  Tears dropped from my eyes as I shared my worry for a friend, his hand reached across the table to hold mine.  This is a new phase of my healing, the big thaw.

But this isn't the hilariously disgusting part.

The back of the Subaru was packed with a bunch of junk I wanted to donate to Goodwill.  I suggested we stop even though it was 9:30 at night.  Maybe we'd find a fabulous treasure!

We split up.  Mr. Scabs was checking out the videos and I was filtering through kitchenware just a few aisles away.  A short, beer-bellied, greasy man dressed in a dirty yellow T and saggy denim rounded the corner.  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed he was zipping up his jeans.  Yep, ZIPPING UP HIS JEANS!!!

I freeze as he walks behind me taking his place just two inches from my side.  I don't breathe but I can smell him anyway.  His stench cutting through the distinctly musty Goodwill aroma.  He turns to face me, his face too many inches into my personal space.

"How YOU doin'?"

One sideways glance at the perv and I skedaddle toward Mr. Scabs.  After a few minutes of nodding in agreement at the awesomeness of his Bruce Lee video discovery, I feel safe again.

Venturing out into the aisles of Goodwill alone, searching for my treasure.   As I turn down one aisle I notice someone following me.  Naw, this can't be.  Am I paranoid?  I turn the corner, another corner and then another...an older man in a grungy white t-shit is following me!

Seriously?  I make a beeline for Mr scabs and we booked it outta there.

So beware ladies,  lonely pervs haunt the aisles of Goodwill on Friday nights.  It felt like a game of choose your pervert.

With the greatest love and respect, I choose Mr. Scabs. xoxo