About 4, maybe 5 times a year, if someone can coerce my participation with enough beer and/or naps, I will drive up to the in-laws with the fam all packed up in the truck. It’s usually a weekend of do-without bullshit that involves 4 generations of people I would probably stand to forget (the weekends and the people, in case you were wondering). The only people I like in the family have quirks that are so whitebread it makes me ill, but oh so shocking to the rest of them. The weed producing patriarch, the uncontrollable alcoholic uncle who always wears shorts (and not cool knee length shit you can find at the gap or old navy. No, no, the weird second hand store faded red sport shorts with pockets kind of shorts)… Wait. It’s just the two of them. Could be the lack of quirks in the family makes me ill. I’ll figure it out.
On the way there, about an hour out of town, in a place that has been dubbed the birthplace of the NHL, I see something that over the years has seared itself into my mind. I’m a twat when it comes to traffic and if I can’t pass you on a two lane highway cuz you’re a dipshit going 10 miles below the limit I will lose it. So, I often cut through town to avoid finally having my aneurysm. Each and every time I do, there she is. She’s either standing on a corner, or jaywalking across Main street or leaning against some car in the parking lot at Tim Horton’s. Every time, regardless of weather. Keep in mind I write this over the fucking Christmas holidays and it was -25 Celcius (look up the conversion ffs, I can’t be bothered).
She’s the town whore. I guarantee it. She could be pushing 50.Tall, slender, with skin a golden Caucasian, (think Something About Mary, but Mary’s roommate, hair like Micheal Jackson during the Thriller era, except it would be pouffier and mousy brown, the way a woman who always knew she was maybe the 17th most attractive person she knew would wear her hair in 1984. the first time I saw her she was wearing a midriff baring yellow t-shirt (sans bra thank you very much, leaving none of the b-cup banana action to the imagination), purple dyed cut off jeans with black high heels and a tiny purse that makes me think of crappy Japanese cartoon accessories for young girls to complete the ensemble. This time she was wearing a ¾ length leather jacket. Same shoes. Couldn’t tell if she had bothered with pants. Her makeup was a healthy mix of pink and blue and both were heavy on the frosting and shimmer. Garish.
She is by far the ugliest woman I have seen up close and thought, “There! Her! She’s the town whore! It’s so obvious!” And yet, it is that obvious, she could be nothing else. Librarian? Sandwich Artist? Barista? City Planner? Agricultural Specialist? Nope. Town whore. Gleefully riding handlebar moustaches and getting her thighs full of tractor grease at lunch time while drinking her RC cola and eating Cheezies.
And every time I see her I have to wonder. Does she watch the same shows I watch on Sunday night? Are we both huge fans of Lost? Are we living through a shared experience at the exact same time? Will I feel a chill in my body when she finally commits suicide surrounded by her cats and the stacked cases of Wildcat in her living room? Cuz she’s an old ass whore in a shitty small town whose claim to fame is old ass NHLers and next year’s 18th Annual Ontario Swingers Festival. It’s just a matter of time.
11:39 PM | Posted by
wastingawesome
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