I met a girl.

I met a girl. Actually, I met two girls. Though the second one is not really a girl; she only wishes she was a girl. The former is special. Not like that; get your head straight. She just is. The other is the green grass in the snake; she will smile while she sticks a stiletto in your back. So I met two girls, and I am pretty sure that one or the other is going to be my ruination.

The special one has a quality that is quite intoxicating. She occupies more mental bandwidth than is good for my sanity. She occupies an outfit such that it is impossible to walk with her down the street; the desire to let her take a few steps forward so that I can admire the wiggle of that ass is sometimes overwhelming. I have a feeling that in twenty years when my desire to justify every bad decision I have ever made I shall wish to pen a memoir. I intend to devote several long paragraphs, maybe even a chapter, to the wonders of that wiggle. Whoever decided to add Lycra to denim and invented the skinny jeans deserves a special place in heaven because, Damn! that girl can fill out a pair!

The bitch, on the other had, is not intoxicating, though she occupies a substantial amount of mental bandwidth too. How can anyone take such perverse pleasure in being a bitch. If she was a rocket scientist, I could somehow understand her degree of bitch-ness. But she doesn't. All she is, as far as I can tell, is the gatekeeper. She decides who gets to see he-who-shall-not-be-named. She decides what documents come before him for approval. She decides the form certain documents shall take before they are placed before him. If all she did was to gatekeep, we would leave it that. But she goes out of her way to make sure that whatever it is that you are looking for, whether it is an official response or an approval, will only come after you have kissed her ass. Sometimes I wonder whether she intends the ass-kissing to be literal.

Two experiences in the space of a week and it is clear that there are people who are inherently good and there are those who are inherently assholes. The gatekeeper is a bitch, which is just the female version of an asshole. If she wasn't a bitch, she'd probably have more friends and not take her lunch all alone at her desk. And there would definitely not be some pissed off civil servant ion Rwanda supposed to be enjoying himself writing unflattering things about her pockmarked, over-made up face, sagging tits or the whiff of desperation in her attire. Skinny jeans were not invented with her in mind.

So, really, I met the one girl and encountered the other. The girl I met had coffee with me and...you don't really need to know. The girl...bitch...I encountered will not be getting compliments anytime soon. She will have my undivided attention. Not in a nice way neither.