Okay, I know I said Jeremy was the name of my cat. But I wasn’t entirely being honest. You see, there was another Jeremy.
Ah, yes, a Jeremy who wasn’t actually a feline. Jeremy (the person, not the cat) was this jerk who I bumped into just a month ago. It was his fault – he was on his cellphone, not looking where he was headed.
Really, I think cars are no longer the dick extension of the modern man. Cellphones are the most recent manhood enhancers. The fancier the cellphones, the better. And, just like cars, men like decking out their phones: the man of today adds different apps to his phone the same way the man of yesterday adds accessories to his car. You see, cellphones make men feel better about their pencil-thin dicks. Or their lack of balls.
So there he was, his forehead all crunched up, speaking in an annoyed voice. More importantly, he was talking on his dick extension while not looking where he was headed. He was walking like a madman– I knew I couldn’t walk around him fast enough… Then, bam.
I actually saw my purse fly up in the air before my ass hit the pavement. It was the most unceremoniously embarrassing thing that had ever happened to me in public. And to add insult to injury, my purse landed with a blunt thump on my head.
“Dammit!”
Of course, the first word Jeremy ever had to say to me was dammit. Otherwise, Jeremy would not have been Jeremy. “Creep,” I uttered under my breath as I tried to get back up on my feet. I slipped and landed back on my ass.
“I’ll call you later,” Jeremy told his dick extension before he snapped it closed. He looked at me. With a sigh, he grabbed my shoulder and yanked me on my feet. “Sorry,” he said.
I brushed the dirt off my skirt. “Is that how you apologize to ladies you bulldoze into? Sorry,” I mimicked the lack of sincerity in his voice.
“I had things on my mind.”
“Of course you did. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been on my ass a few seconds ago.”
“I said I was sorry.”
I looked down at my feet. How exactly do you accept an apology when you’re still really pissed? As with any other social situation that stumped me, I simply opted for silence.
“You ripped your skirt. I should pay you back for that.”
He was right. There was a visible slit on my skirt. Damn, it was my favorite and I bought it months ago, too. I wouldn’t find another one even if I wanted to.
He looked flustered as he checked his pockets. “Uh, I left my wallet at the office. How about you come with me? It’s just down the block.”
“Are you sure you’re not just going to mug me?” I held my purse extra tight.
He smiled. It was then that I realized he was a little younger than I thought him to be. His crisp collared shirt and dick extension simply made him look more mature minutes ago. But even with his styled yuppie hair and the hardened I-mean-business expression on his face, he wouldn’t have been more than a few years older than me. “If you don’t trust me, you can just drop by my office anytime you want. See that building? I’m on the eighth floor. Ask the receptionist for Jeremy.”
I stopped in my tracks. “My cat’s name is Jeremy.”
He stared unrelentingly. He was definitely not shy. “Really? I’m more of a dog person.”
“Me, too.”
He was smiling. He had like a million teeth. And eyes that sparkled mischievously as he continued to stare. Maybe he was trying to read my mind. “Then, why do you have a cat?”
“Long story, Jeremy.” Where would I start?
He cleared his throat. “Am I anything like your cat?”
“Well. He also likes staring at me. And he likes bumping into me, too.”
