Some months ago, in the middle of the afternoon, I was sitting at a local sport’s bar on my computer, catching up on work, while I waited for my car to get washed. A chubby, short fingered, short dude came up to me, and stuck his short little pointy finger in my face. He caught me by surprise. I did not catch most of his words. I did not even think that I knew him. I figured he had mistaken me for someone else.
I vaguely remember his insults that exclaimed how ugly I am him. I have no recollection of ever caring what he thought of my appearance, so his words did not make much sense to me. Heck, I have no recollection of ever caring what someone thought of my appearance. So, Little P waddling up to call me ugly did not make any sense. I don’t think that any woman on planet Earth cares what Little P thinks. If they appear to care, he is probably tipping them.
I remember being shocked by a man that felt he should accost a woman when she was alone, and I remember being bemused by the short little finger that he waved in my face like a tough guy. I could have easily stood up and dropped him to the floor, but I am taught to only defend myself with force when threatened, and I was not physically threatened. Instead of knocking him down, I looked on as he ranted like he was some sort of big deal.
Then I watched as he pranced away and went to high five the gang of dudes that sat at his table nearby. Little P was so brazen in accosting a woman when she was all by herself. He was so proud and sure of himself that he went back to his table and held him hand out for high fives with his buddies like he was a bold, brave dude. I feel safe in saying that Little P’s parents failed to raise a man.
I had to do a bit of research to figure out who the heck those short, little fingers belonged to. It turns out that at some point, months prior to the incident where he acted liked a big dog, accosting a woman by herself, that he had creeped me out on another occasion. I had posted something on Facebook about not being creepy and asking a woman where she lives. I did not mention Patrick by name. I did not even know his name. He self-identifies as creepy guy in bar that keeps asking where a woman lives, and he took great offense to my post. So much so, that he felt the need to attack me at the bar that day.
Today, I see Little P out, and he is afraid to approach me. What? I thought he was some big tough guy needing to let me know that I am ugly. Why was he hanging his head down as if trying to hide. What is different now? Oh, today I am not alone. He is only bold and brazen and high-fiving his boys when he is attacking a woman that is alone. I see now. So sad little P. Are you afraid of me? You only attack when you out number a woman five to one? We all know what the P in Little P stands for, but I also think that p is for Pathetic. I guess everyone knows that too.