A promise is a promise is a promise

I promised I would tell about some of my other stories more in depth. Well, I'm no liar! At least, today I'm not.

So, I was at the thrift store in my neighborhood. It was my day off and I had a case of the "nothing-to-do's," so I toddled down to the nearest locale where I could submerge my my upper half in mite-infested clothes. If pressed, you could say I was on a mission. If lazy, you could say I had nothing better to do. Potato, patahto, if you ask me. I was there to get some dirty clothes, and that was the end of it.

I don't know about you, but a day off is a headache for me. No obligations? What to do? Where to start? How can I avoid spending money? I want to lay in bed - NO YOU DON'T, ALISON, GET OUT OF BED - but I'm lazy! - GET OUTSIDE! - but if I'm outside I have a manic desire to spend money I do not have! - WEATHER! - laziness!

Yeah, you get the idea. It's all Sybilly in there.

SO I'M AT THE JUNK STORE. I casually pick up the largest pair of shoes in my eyeline, hoping they may possibly be my size. As I'm wrestling the shoe on to my foot, I look up to see an older, friendly-looking black lady dressed entirely in lime green standing over me.

Older lady: "Those shoes look great."

I'm flustered and doubled over on the ground, so I wobble upwards and say thanks.

Older lady: "I don't think I've seen you around here before. Are you new to the neighborhood?"

Now, at first, I thought this was a trick question, because the weekend before some bitchy woman in Bed-Stuy thought it would be funny to say "Welcome to the neighborhood!" to me and my similarly pasty friends. Needless to say, it was not sincere. I can't help gentrification, people! I wasn't the first whitey to move here and I won't be the last! SOWWY!

So, I say that yes, I am relatively new to the neighborhood. She asks me what I do, I say I'm a writer, and then the fun really begins. (And you thought this story was just about me getting lice! Boy, were you wrong!)

Geraldine (as we are now on a first name basis) quickly lets me know that we were meant to meet each other. She is a minister, a lady of god, and she needs someone to write her biography -- and girl, it is juicy!

First off, Geraldine is 61 years old, loves Jesus, and had one prayer her entire life: TO NOT GET OLD.

Well, her prayers worked out. This woman did not look a day over 35. It was totally crazy. Apparently, she'd found the fountain of youth and it was in a church or something.

She had also been married for forty years, had numerous affairs with doctors that drove Benzes (called her "menz," btdubs), and was completely devoted to being a strong-minded, take no shit wah-MAN. She went into exquisite detail over her first orgasm ("after two years of marriage! what the hell is that? i was all laying there, just letting him do his business, and then i was like, HELL naw!"), said I was a cute lil white girl, and had me cornered with a pile of dirty shoes for an hour and a half.

This woman was magic.

An annoying, take-my-whole-day-yapping kind of magic, but magic, nonetheless.

So, after recommending that I get highlights, change my entire wardrobe and come to her house for a silk jacket that would do wonders for my slouching (?), she waltzed me out of the store and into the street, whereupon she began to introduce me to complete strangers as her daughter and demand that they "respect me."

Yes, you heard me right. I wish I had footage of my face when she said this stuff.

The first group of people she approached were two teenage girls with babies, smoking on a corner. She approached them with a hearty "God bless!", then started in with the questioning.

"What should my white girl daughter do if men give her trouble?"

Both of them looked me up and down, and one replied that I should "cuss em out."

This was not the answer Geraldine desired. She had been coaching me on all this stuff about telling guys that hoot and holler that "Jesus loves you and SO DO I!", which I personally did not see getting me anywhere. She brushed off their answers, insisted that the girls be nice to me whenever they saw me around, and above all to "respect me."

Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

I was finally able to get rid of Geraldine by coming up with some cockamamie story about taking care of a sick cat. I was really pulling it out of my ass. She was a nice lady! But a kwaaayzy, fountain-of-youth worshipping time monopolizer! I couldn't take the heat! I'm sowwy! Don't blame me, I'm just a cute white girl!

P.S. I had a suspicion this was all about getting me to go to her church. A sneaking one, at that. She hasn't called me yet (I gave her my number! I couldn't help it! She's a strong wo-man!) but I bet she will. Or, she better. My weekends are open!