How blind you is?

This week, I spent a few days in Austin on business. Trust me, this trip to Austin inspired so many blog entries for Nuvision for a Nuday. So, be on the look out. You will certainly be amused.

But tonight's post is dedicated to the pimp with a limp that assisted me at the airport in Austin. This brotha earned his very own entry on Nuvision for a Nuday.

Whenever I travel alone, I have to solicit assistance from the airport staff to get to and from the taxi to the gate that I will be boarding the plane. Well, upon arriving at the airport in Austin, the Continental Airlines staff called for someone to assist me to the gate. This brotha walked up and grabbed me to take me where I needed to go. Note: He grabbed me. Not my bags... Just me... But that's a-whole-nother story. We can talk about that later.

Getting to the point of this entry. Well, as we were walking, I immediately noticed that the brotha was walking with a limp. I wasn't sure if this was because of some kind of disability or if he was just trying to be super cool. All I know is that the brotha was walking with a serious dip in his step. But I wasn't mad at him though. Remember, I got a disability. So, I am certainly not trying to call the brotha out for having a limp. But if that was his way of announcing to the world that he was cool, then I can't be so gracious. But since I don't know one way or the other, I will let the brotha make it.

Well, as he was walking and dipping, this brotha looks over at your girl and let these words roll out of his mouth. "How blind is you?"

"What?" I thought. And trust me, I didn't have that big fat "what" in my mind because I didn't hear him. I heard him correctly. My "what" was because I didn't believe that this brotha was asking me, "How blind is you?", and meaning it. "How blind is you?" Really?

Well, to be nice, I answered his question. "Totally blind." And that's when he said, "Well, you sho' is beautiful yet."

The pimp with a limp was trying to put his mack down on me. How lucky was I that this brotha was using all that bad grammar on me? I'll tell you how lucky. I was real lucky that I didn't fall out laughing in his face. Or should I say that he was lucky?

The brotha started asking me if I had any kids. "You ain't never wanted no children? A pretty lady like you need children."

Interestingly, he never asked me if I had a man. Well, I guess it's because I didn't have a ring on my finger. And I guess in the world that we live in, it is highly possible for me to have "children" without having a man. But again, that's another blog entry that I will avoid on this blog. I rant and rave about critical issues on other folks blogs. **smile**

Thankfully, the pimp with the limp trusted his better judgement, and did not ask me for my number. He may not have sounded like he had any sense, but he must've had a little. Thank God.

What's so funny about this is that the entire time I was walking with him, I was trying to force a smile down. I really was falling out laughing in my head. But I, by no means, wanted the pimp with a limp to think that I was moved by his flirting.

Don't get me wrong... I'll take a nice comment from anyone. But come on... "How blind is you?" You know that is funny.

And I'm not even going to address the, "You sho' is pretty yet."
Translation: Even though you're blind, you are still pretty.

I've written about that before. No point in boring y'all again.

The crazy thing is that when I arrived in Houston, they called a young guy to assist me down to baggage claim. Now, let me preface this with a disclaimer. Yes, I know I couldn't see the boy. But the young fellow sounded all of 22-years-old, 25-years-old, at the oldest. Yes, I do realize he could have been older. But nine times out of ten, I'm usually right about guessing someone's age. Most of the time, a person, even if they've been through hell and high water in their young life, can't camoflauge youth.

But getting back to the story... This young brotha walks me all the way down to passenger pick up without really saying a word to me. But when he sits me down on the bench, where I was going to wait for my sister, he decides to start shooting game.

"Thank you very much for walking me down."

"You're welcome, with your fine self. I'll walk you anywhere you want me to, baby."

Boy, wasn't I lucky? I smiled, and said nothing. Then, I pulled my cell phone out and started calling my sister. I think he caught the drift and decided to move on.

I told my friend in ATL that it appears that I had a blue collar magnet in my back pocket today. He scolded me for my joking, by saying, "That's what's wrong with you black women. You complain about not having anyone. But when someone approaches you, that may be less educated, financially secure, or socially exposed as you, you turn your nose up."

Well, forgive me if I'm wrong. But this sistah is not so lonely that I would go for the pimp with the limp, whose grammar had a bigger limp than his stride. And I wasn't checking for the baby in the Houston airport. I don't rob nurseries. Times ain't that hard yet.

Plus, the truth is, I don't mind a blue collar. But here's the catch... That blue collar needs to be attached to a steady, always advancing, skilled technical professional. Shoot me for being honest. I might be many things. But one thing I'm not is a liar.

My beautiful daddy is a retired plumber. No issue with blue collars, even the dirty blue collars. But brotha man, brotha man, I need you to at least earn more than the bare minimum. And trust me, the workers that are guiding folks around and pushing folks in wheelchairs at the airport are at the base of the totem pole. I need one of those aircraft mechanics, air traffic controllers, or one of those TSA workers. You catch my drift?

Am I wrong? Tell a sistah. I can handle it. Rebuke me if I need it. **grin**

Have a good one. And be blessed.

Peace out,

Angie B.