Yep. That ain’t trap and that ain’t techno.
I don’t know what happened. I was in my office the other night, just randomly being a Bitchface to the average passerby, and scrolled right past ol’ Keith.
I was like, “whoa, whoa, whoa, wh- hol’ up. Let’s just check something…”
30 seconds in and I was out of my chair. Yep.
Y’all bitches know what that means? You damned right. I might be all healed the fuck up and ready to hurt some feelings.
Oh, it’s finna be a terrible fucking day for someone. But not me this time, and thank Baby Jesus for that, because um, I’m real sick of that shit.
Let me tell y’all what happened the other night. Remember how everyone said, “Queen, you can’t just sit to the house and think that dudes are gonna come knocking on the door to take you out”.
Um, wrong. Actually, I can, and they will. Allow me to digress.
So, a couple of nights ago, I wanted a cherry Slurpee like nobody’s business. Alas, it’s 3am, and I don’t drive at 3am because a felony stop will ruin my day today, and most of tomorrow. Thankfully, though, we live in the era of people who will drive your shit straight to your house for a flat fee and nominal tip amount.
I hop right on Instacart and order myself some slurpees, and got Puffin her gummy bears, because y’all know how she gets. I then get to the little chatty chat and tell driver, “I’m paying attention, let me know if the damned machine is broken and we’ll reconvene”. I said some other slick, sideways shit too, because y’all know I don’t have an off button and swear I’m the funniest bitch chatting at 3:15 a.m.
Uh. I am. So says my delivery guy, who side hustles slurpees at night, because he likes wiping his brow with hundred dollar bills. What? I love wiping things with hundred dollar bills! The fuck out of here.
As he’s laughing his ass off at my shenanigans, one of the bicycle riders with the boombox on the handles rolls by, and y’all have already heard me do that routine. Dude is about to piss himself, and that was that. I take my shit, crack another joke or two, and we’re cool. You have yourself a fantastic evening, hoss, and spend your little tip like you earned it.
Next morning, look at who has a little chat request on my socials. Who th-
Well, lookie the fuck here. It’s delivery boy. He remembered the name of my column. Impressive. Quite impressive, actually, because I don’t really remember saying it, but I must have. Because dude is like, “hey it’s your driver from last night, and I would love to talk with you if you have some time”.
What? Who th- am I high? No, don’t let the 3 a.m. 7-11 run fool you. I most certainly would not have been talking to strangers if I were. It makes me ultra paranoid and I can’t just fire off jokes in rapid succession like that. That’s an acquired skill, don’t forget that.
So, I hit him up. He’s a sweet kid. Got a kid though, y’all know I don’t do the stepmom shit. The only step relations y’all are getting from me take place between me and the dryer, and if I could stop it from copping a feel, I would. Sexually harassing ass dryer. Just, presumptuous, that’s what that is.
Made my week a little better though. I tried to tell y’all that if I sat here long enough, someone would show up and like my face. It seems, again, I was absolutely correct, but that’s nothing new. Running about a 98% correct rate right now, and not just because I’m the one doing the math.
It’s on the whiteboard, and I’ve shown my work. Run that back substituting 2.72 for “x” and tell me what you got.
That’s right.
-Q
Welcome back, Queen!