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Horseshit
This pile of equine effluvia hails from the intersection of Stillwell and Surf Avenue at good ol’ Coney Island. I happened across it yesterday morning after spending an hour prancing along the boardwalk and being photographed by the New York Daily News. I attracted a throng of curious onlookers. I suspect what I was wearing had something to do with this.
SEX-I-FUL!
On a whim, I decided to grace the parade with my fineass fecal female person. Being #268, I ended up waiting quite awhile before my number was called. I whiled away the time by sitting in the shade; wearing a dress covered with ~10 pounds of CRAP and two cups of sticky caramel topping can make a girl hot.
And “HOT” I was. I know this because a fellow parade-goer took great pains to tell me so.
Male Suitor: You may be covered in shit, but you are beautiful. You look like Cinderella.
Me: Uh, thanks.
After the previous exchange of pleasantries this man (who was clearly enjoying a variety of mind-altering substances) proceeded to go into an illucid five minute monologue about my many charms.
It has been a long time since I have had a man try to pick me up. This is something that simply does not happen. I strongly suspect that my “mojo” has something to do with it. Or maybe it is the way I dress? Who knows. Now (that I am married) I have learned the cardinal rule of attracting menfolk: look like SHIT.
Miss Heather
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