I’m So Fly – I’m OG Baby Like Grape Koolaid

The sun beat down on the hot pavement as my sandaled feet walked briskly, matching the pace of the other walkers on 5th Avenue. Sweat beaded on my forehead.  Mind over Matter, I thought to myself. I twisted out of my sweater, trying to keep up with my friends and shoved it in my bag, madly searching for my sunglasses to no avail. After retracing my steps in my mind, I furiously cursed myself for leaving them on the subway. Who does that in August? Water like mirages littered the road ahead. I squinted trying to make out where we were going. We turned a couple corners and headed down 6th Avenue. And what did we find? A street fair.

The smell of Gyro’s mixed with empanadas teased my nose. Tents lined both sides of the street.  Among them were vendors of all kinds: food, drinks (even the frozen kind), clothing, shoes, hats, and yes…sunglasses. I dismissed myself from my entourage and headed straight for the shaded sunglasses booth.

Being my first time in NYC, I didn’t want to look like a dumb blonde from Texas who didn’t know what I was doing and probably road a horse to the airport, so I squared my shoulders and tried to look coy, like I Ain’t New Ta This. I walked around the booth, eye shopping until I found a pair of gorgeous light brown Dior knock offs. I reached down to pick them up at the exact time a tan hand with long red fingernails reached for the same pair. She giggled. My eyes travelled from her cherry nails up to her…ahem…to her boobs.  The biggest boobs I had ever seen, and they were out and proud. Two bronzed melons squished together under a tight, white very deep v-neck  tank. She giggled again and said, “You have good taste.” I may have said, “Well, that’s because you’ve got big jugs. I mean your boobs are huge. I mean, I wanna squeeze ’em. Mama!” Or something like that.

Finally, she broke my boob trance and said, “Try them on. They’ll look great on you.” So I did, and she was right. The fake Dior glasses were made for my face. She said, “You have to buy them.” And I said, “No, you get them. You saw them first.” I really wanted those glasses, but I’m from the South, and I’m polite, so I did the polite thing and handed them to her. She looked at me. I shot her my best, “I’m really sweet, and I want these effing glasses” smiles.  She bit her lip for a minute while I checked out the rest of her attire. Which didn’t take long. Then she handed them to me and insisted I get them. My Lethal Weapon, my Texas charm, always works.

Just as I started to leave, she motioned me back and pointed to a duplicate pair and said something about us being sunglasses twins. I thought to myself that we couldn’t be further from twins, but I humored her, and we both tried on the shades admiring our reflections in the hand mirror that she held out for us. I watched her go buy her glasses, and then I headed to the same guy to buy mine.

He had  I’m Your Pusher written all over him mainly because he had a huge wad of cash in his hands and was wearing sunglasses and a smile on his face when Boobs Mctits exchanged cash with him.

I started walking over and realized I only had credit, and I was pretty certain this was a cash only kind of place. By this time, my husband (who was fiancé at the time) and the rest of our crew had purchased drinks and made their way to the sunglasses tent. I asked him for the money to buy the shades, and he happily obliged. I walked over to the sunglasses vendor, pulled the cash from my purse and started to hand it to him when I felt fingers grip my bicep and yank me back. My fiancé whispered, “What are you doing?” Pulling me away from the vender.

I whispered back, “Buying sunglasses. What are you doing?” And pulled my arm from his grip.

He laughed. Then he said with a big shit-eating grin, “From him?” Gesturing with a nod toward the vendor holding the cash.

“Yes,” I said turning back toward the guy with the cash.

He pulled me back again, got super close to my ear, and whispered, “Do you not know who that is?” I furrowed my brow and shook my head. He bit his lip, stifling a laugh,  “That’s Ice T.”

I stood there, mouth agape, and watched as Ice T and Coco walked to a different tent together, his hand comfortably resting at the top curve of her perfectly round ass.

We had a good laugh and told everyone for the rest of the trip how I tried to buy sunglasses from Ice T. I often wonder though what would have happened if he hadn’t yanked my hand back. I’m pretty sure Ice T would have gotten a kick out of it, or we might have had to Escape From the Killing Fields.

Ice T

photo credit: factmag.com

***If you’re not an Ice T fan, you may not have caught my bold italic references to a few of his songs.   Disclaimer:  You may or may not get offended by some of the lyrics.  You also may or may not understand my confusion.