Leg-Ohs

Last Friday, my dear friend Cotten and I went to see Sonia Sanchez speak at Dickinson College. We met up with a couple of friends beforehand to grab a couple of beers. An important thing to mention is that our reasoning behind having a few drinks before the event was in no way similar to why a teenager would have pounded a couple of Old Milwaukee pounders before a Night Ranger concert in 1985. In other words, we weren't "lubing up," per se; nor were we "psyching ourselves up." I only mention this because the thought of getting wasted before attending a Sonia Sanchez reading is utterly ridiculous. In fact, I wanted to be absolutely stone-sober in case her presence was too powerful for me to handle, thus, turning me into dust. To the best of my knowledge, no one changed form, but I will say that seeing her and hearing her speak was incredible. What an amazing person!! I was blown away as she leveled the room. How great it was!!

So, after that, a few of us decided to go down the street to consume a few celebratory beverages. Since I arrived before everyone else, it seemed like a good idea to make my way to the bar where I would be able to purchase a nice, frothy brew. Locals be damned, I was on a mission. After nudging my way through the crowd of students and townies I managed to find an empty spot near the end of the bar. Now, up until this point, you may be wondering if there is anything resembling a story in this entry. And indeed, there is. The tiny void near the end of the bar had a gaggle of twenty-something girls on the left side and on the right side were two forty-something men who appeared to have received hygiene tips from Oscar the Grouch. I ordered an ice-cold Guinness Draught (not to be confused with a Guinness "Drought" that the girl at the beer distributor encourage me to sample) and replied to a text sent minutes before by my beautiful wife. The bartender walked away, undoubtedly considering how manly I must be in order to request such a tough beer. And that's when I felt a tap on my shoulder from one half of the Dumpster Twins sitting on my right. The following exchange occurred.

Creepy man: (pointing and nodding in the direction to my left) Look there.
Me: What?
Creepy man: (pointing at the legs of a girl from the gaggle to my left)There.
Me: What?
Creepy man: Legs.
Me: OK?
Creepy man: You don't like legs?
Me: Yeah. My wife has lovely ones.
Creepy man: Aw, man. You can look!
Me: (using my mind to quickly steer the Guinness directly into my hand, not unlike the tractor beam in Star Wars: Episode IV) No, thanks.

I did a 180 and beat cheeks out of my little nook. In hindsight, I probably should have told the girl to guard her drink in case the man had a fistful of roofies. But in actuality, it would have taken a special kind of person to be tricked by that guy.

Currently blasting: Desmond Dekker-"Pickney Girl"
Currently enjoying: Syracuse railing Villanova.