Pucker Up

So I went to Watson's the other day, needing more cotton squares. Browsed around, picking through the fun stuff, as usual - I love me my Watson's. It's my favoritest store. I walk into Watson's and I feel happy.

Anyway. At the cashier's, scoping out some magazines - "How to Get Your Man to Give You Everything You Want", Cosmo really should rethink their articles, it's the same shizz over and over - this lady comes up to me, gushing about my lip gloss. "Where'd you get it? What kind of gloss is it? What color?"

Inwardly, my system was going into overdrive. Ilad alert! Bleep! Ilad alert! I was glancing around surreptitiously to see if she had an accomplice ready to snatch my bag and run, clutching it to my side, making sure everything was closed and nothing could be stolen. Inching slowly away from her. Had to get my distance. Gauge where I could kick and scratch and inflict damage.

Outwardly, I was calm. Maybe all she really wanted was to know where I got my lip gloss. So I told her. I got the hell outta there as fast as I could after I told her, though.

In a city like this, you can't give people the benefit of the doubt. It's a sad state of affairs when you just can't trust anyone but that's the way it goes. I learned my lesson the hard way, courtesy of a good for nothing hustler of an otap vendor. But that's another story.