I was walking through a park today and saw two dogs playing together. One of them was normal, but the other one was really weird looking: bristly long hair, a huge head, huge snout and short, short legs. It looked like a javelina.
So I walked up the owner, a beautiful young woman with perfect dewy skin, no makeup, and a face framed by angelic ringlets, and asked her if it was a javelina.
“No, it’s a pig,” she answered in a brittle voice, her lip curling, and turned her back. She acted like I’d just asked her for spare change or a genital massage.
You know when people are rude to you for no reason and you just can’t accept that fact? So instead of doing the normal thing and getting away from them, you keep talking to them. I suppose in the hopes that reality will magically transform into something you’d like it to be.
Maybe you just misperceived them. If you give them another chance, maybe they’ll be really nice all of a sudden!
“They’re like dogs, aren’t they?” I tried.
She shifted her gaze from the dirt below her feet to my face, then right back to the dirt, suggesting that the two were one and the same. Then she fixed me with a cold look and said, “No, they’re like pigs.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. I was only asking.” I turned and walked far, far away.
I didn’t know her at all, but she hurt my feelings. I mean, she was the one bringing a 100-pound pig to a dog park, for fucks sakes. Now I’m the freak?
Fuck her. I just wanted to know about her damn pig. Anyway, to console myself, I ended up going to a tapas bar and ordering a whole plate of jamón serrano. Bitch.