"Are You Talking to Me?"

But you're looking at me, look at you, while you're talking to her!

Confusion is everywhere. Whether it's you trying to decipher the ingredients listed on the back of those Captain crunch berries you love so much or if you're trying to Pictionary your way through the instruction's manual of your brand new tv stand, (I'm sorry, but is step one telling me to screw in the hex nut to the hex bolt and attach side a to the left side of side b? Or am I supposed to attach everything to platform G?).

Yes, that example was personal, and honestly, I would've had a much easier time reading that shit in French.

But the point is, we all get confused. There will always be a reason to utilize those context clues of ours and for most of us, (me), some things will just continue to go over our heads as graciously as a cow jumping over the moon. But with all that being said, there's still no bigger confusion that leads to an even bigger embarrassment than when you think someone is talking to you.

---

Now what upsets me most about this story, which I promise to get to, is that I usually mind my business in the presence of conversation, even if someone IS talking to me. I come fully prepared, having an array of solutions and a well-thought-out exit plan. I not only try my best to speed up this "uninvited" conversation by keeping my replies to a minimum with responses like: "uh-huh"..."right"...and "okay", but I'll also pull out my award-winning performance of acting as if I'm unfamiliar with the person or situation in question.

For instance, if I'm walking down the street and see someone I know, I will unhesitatingly turn the other way and not feel an ounce of guilt. Or should I find myself in the same situation but was annoyingly detected by the person I knew; I will purposely pretend as if I have no idea who they are or what they might be referring to.

Exhibit A:

Randomly spotting the boy turned man from my eighth-grade class in the lone parking lot of a CVS. He once partnered with me on a group project in science class and according to him, we had "chemistry" that day. I saw him getting out of his car, so I did the natural thing and quickly got back into mines.

or

Exhibit b:

The girl from my tenth-grade gym class who detected me in the local Starbucks. We were on each other's team for a forced volleyball game that year.

"Hey Simone! Do you remember me?", she said as I grabbed my hot chocolate from the cashier.

"Ooooooo no, sorry", I replied.

"Ciara. Tenth-grade year? Gym class?"

"Yeah, no. The memory isn't coming up. I must've been absent that day".

"But I was in your gym class the entire year".

"I don't really like gym. Never participated. But hey look, I gotta run".

Now as shameful as my actions might have been, you have to admit that they're a pretty bulletproof way of helping me to avoid what could've been some potential awkward encounters, (I think it's safe to say that I've encouraged a view of being asocial). However, in regard to this story, not only did I NOT mind my business, but I didn't quite take into account how my shameful actions could one day go the other way around.

Karma really is a...

---

She was staring at me!

How was I supposed to know who this woman was conversing with if she's looking at me while evidently talking to her?!

I needed an outfit, and quick!

I was asked out by a guy from my writer's group and thought I'd try to find something cute, yet casual, (yet last-minute), to wear on our date to an art exhibition that was being held later on that day.

Our date didn't require me to pull out my Gucci belt, mink coat, or Prada bag, (I literally own nothing of the sort), so I figured heading into the friendly neighborhood Marshall's would suffice.

As I looked between the racks of clothing, going from one aisle to the next, desperately trying to find the perfect ensemble, I noticed a blush pink dress with a sheer neckline and flared sleeves poking out from in-between the section of smalls and mediums.

It was perfect... and just my size!

I quickly snatched the dress from its hiding place, analyzed it from top to bottom, and then held it up against me to check its length.

That's when it happened. The unspeakable!

"Aht, aht", said a voice coming from the aisle two rows ahead of me. "That dress is ugly. Put it back".

"Excuse me?!", I thought to myself. Was I really standing here in the friendly neighborhood Marshall's where I can find "fabulous brands at feel good prices", being criticized for my fashion choices by some uninvited and HIGHLY unwelcomed spectator? What was this?! Project Runway?

After following the sound of those "critique frequencies", I turned around and quickly raised my head, eager to meet this hater and their unsummoned opinions face to face.

And there she was.

Staring at me from across the aisle two rows down stood a five-foot, six-inch black woman with a freshly cut fade, thick blue hoop earrings, and a long orange dress that fit her figure perfectly. She was stunning. (Now sis, I understand you're stylish, but there was no need for you to bring this much hateration and holleration in this dancery. *If you know, you know).

I looked at the woman with both confusion and admiration.

Still holding the blush pink dress up against my waist, I continued to stare at my heckler completely unsure of how to respond, (she was obviously a style icon. Should I listen to her suggestions?).

The woman with her freshly cut fade remained still and looked back at me with slight discomfort before drawing her attention back to scavenging through the racks.

Lowering my head in shame and with this new sense of insecurity overwhelming me, I discreetly put the blush pink dress into my cart and continued to search through the section of smalls and mediums in a desperate attempt to find what would now be considered: Plan B.

With absolutely no luck in finding a second option, I began to wonder why on earth would I let this woman bully me out of such a divine outfit, (who was she to me?! I was getting this dress! I didn't need her validation). I picked up the dress one last time, holding it up with outstretched arms towards the ceiling when the woman and her opinions interfered for a second time, but this time it seemed she had had enough.

"Girl, stop picking that shit up!", she laughed. "Don't you see the granny sleeves on that thing?".

I gasped.

Granny sleeves?!

I was absolutely appalled. Why was this woman attacking my freedom of expression like this?

I yanked the dress down from the ceiling in pure frustration and held it at my side before once again turning to face my hater. I took a moment to search with piercing eyes through the woman's cart to see if she had any items of her own that I could criticize in return and bring to her attention her terrible taste, but luckily for her I failed to bring my glasses and the only thing that I could make out was a party size bag of Skinny Pop Popcorn, (who in the hell comes to Marshall's to buy popcorn? I hope that shit is expired).

With a failed attempt at trying to fight fire with fire, I decided it would be better and much more mature of me if I just expressed to this woman how her unsavory, unsolicited, and annoying ass remarks made me feel, (calmly, of course. I needed to know where she got her outfit from).

"Ma'am", I said softly, still thinking about what to say. "You don't like this dress?", (why am I still asking her for her opinions?).

She looked up at me and was now holding something in her hands. It was a bright pink blouse with specs of green and yellow splattered across the back and presumably across the front as well. I waited for my hater to reply, (I wish she would make another negative comment about my dress while she stands there holding that horrendous blouse. It looks like a contaminated Mike & Ike. Revenge is mines!).

I asked the question for the second time and this time she looked more confused than ever before, (oh! Oh! OH! You don't have anything to say now? You were doing all of that hatin' before).

Still staring at me with her usual discomfort, the woman looked at me with a bit of frustration and... oh, did I detect an attitude?

She finally responded.

"Excuse me?", said my newly found archnemesis. I repeated the question. "Do you NOT like this dress?".

"Sweetie", she said with annoyance. "The dress is fine. It's pretty".

"What?", I said to myself. What kind of game was this woman playing? She just called it a granny dress and now she thinks it's pretty. (Or is it fine? Pick a side, heffa!).

After a brief moment of awkward silence, my indecisive hater had more to say.

"What are you getting that for?", she asked. She was now hanging her contaminated blouse back on the rack, (Damn, she's not getting it! I still don't have a clapback. Revenge is not mines), but I was surprised nonetheless at her continued interest in my wardrobe.

"I'm going on a date", I replied with a smile, throwing my blush pink dress into the cart. "This guy from my writer's group invited me to an art exhibiti-...". The woman held up her finger and I quickly came to a stop, barely finishing my sentence. With her neck slightly tilted and her face completely distorted, she looked towards me and said, "Uhm, sweetie, I didn't ask". I was puzzled. More puzzled than a crossword.

"But you did", I replied, neck tilted in the same direction as hers. "You just asked me what I was getting this dress for". My hater stepped forward, still two rows ahead of mines, (is this woman trying to fight me?), "I wasn't talking to you", she said, her attitude growing more intense.

I turned slightly to my left and could now see a woman who was equally as stylish as my hater standing directly behind me. She was holding a nude-colored dress with brown sleeves and polka dots that indeed gave off what some might consider "granny vibes". It all made sense.

Feeling completely awkward and almost sure that I was moments away from getting jumped by two stylish black queens, I thought the only way to ease my discomfort would be to make a joke.

"Sorry", I said nervously. "I didn't see or hear your friend behind me"... "You could be a ninja!", I said with a chuckle, turning to face my non-hater's friend who was still holding on to that granny dress. She looked at me with a stale face and if you couldn't already tell, she didn't chuckle back, (too soon?).

With my special ability of being able to read a room and seeing as though my joke didn't go over so well, I grabbed the handle to my cart along with my blush pink dress and headed towards the checkout line. But there was something familiar about my hater's friend that I just couldn't shake. I know her from somewhere, (leave it alone, Simone. Leave it alone).

I turned away from the checkout line and there they were, still standing in the same spot with my hater's cart directly in my line of sight and now full of clothing. Trying my best to keep my 'creep-like essence' to a minimum, I pretended to shop around some more looking through the active wear until I could piece together this mystery.

I got it!

"Hey", I said, awkwardly approaching Ms. Freshly cut fade and her friend. My hater gave me a side eye that was so intense that it almost made me regret my decision of walking my ass back over here. I turned to face the friend and lit up with excitement at the announcement she was about to receive.

"Do you remember me?", I asked, flashing a huge smile on my face. "Uh yea", she replied in annoyance. "You were just here telling the world about your date".

I decided to ignore her shady ass comment and continue the mission. I knew this woman would be mined blown when she realizes who I am, and with a fake smile, I pressed on.

"It's Simone!", I said pointing to myself as if she couldn't already guess that. "I attended your writing seminar last month and told you about the guest panels I joined. You even recommended a few books to me". As I went down the list of books, one by one trying to jog her memory, I could tell by her face that she was completely unimpressed and uninterested in whatever it was that I was doing, (it's a tough damn crowd in the friendly neighborhood Marshall's).

"I host a lot of seminars and recommend a lot of books", she replied, cutting me off after mentioning the classic book "Black Cake". "I don't remember you, sorry. But hey look, we really have to get going".

I stood there in complete shock as my hater and her shady ass friend walked off and headed towards the home section, (I thought ya'll had to "get going"?).

As I walked back towards the checkout line, this time with a sense of urgency, I stood there behind a woman and her daughter pondering my thoughts.

Seconds away from being called up next, another memory that quickly turned into a realization came to me.

"I host a lot of seminars and recommend a lot of books"... her words running back through my mind.

"Wait a gotdamn minute!", I thought. I was the one who brought up the book recommendations! And that was her first seminar! She even said it herself... AT THE SEMINAR!

Did this heffa really just use my own line against me?!...