"I already knew that the role I was condemned to, namely to keep quiet and do what I was told, gave me the perfect opportunity to listen and observe. Not to what people told me, which naturally was of no interest to me, but to whatever it was they were trying to hide."

-Marquise de Merteuil

"Dangerous Liasons"

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It was an unmemorable day, maybe a Wednesday.... half a time before ease. "Yes maam, let me get a McRib, two apple pies and a co-cola." We say "co" with our cola in these parts, as for why, I'm uncertain. I've never had to repeat it a second time. Hand-watching the minimum wage aquarium, the tiniest nose-flick will put me out the door. They can keep the change.

As I back-stepped to yank my money's worth of napkins, a sandpapery turbulence tugged at my notice. Twenty-two feet away, at the entrance, Little Tammy Trailer Toes panthered out her prissiteen foot bottoms right at me. Leaving her torso in the other room, it was a deliberate detachment from symmetry. This wasn't your typical dangle, this was "the wigglin ten up your pant-leg and out your zipper to say hey."

How did this uncultured pearl know this would work? Was there a family meeting? Were the trailer lights a-flickering? Were towels draped in the yard? Musty mom was playing her trump card. A globose mandroid (round head, round eyes, round body), the salon could never come up with "something different." The stylist peer-confided on smoke-break of the lack of angles. "I mean, what do you do?," said he.

These lambchops of lasciviousness presented problems back home; making the weeds a little taller at the single-men homes. In the risk/reward element, how long can you stare? Do the police come if you go too long? Ringggggggg. "Emergency 911." "Yessir, we got a foot starer at the McDonalds on Van Buren, can you send an officer out?"

And just what approach do the prison-bound take? "Maam, your daughter sure has some fluffy feet; you mind if do a little corn-cobbin down nare?" Or, "Can I baw-ree this youngun to my pick-up and let her tap-daynce on ma face?" Whichever method, it takes more guts than I can conjure.

I closed down my bag, moseying past the aroma of her splay (ignoring mama's resentment for leaving off-cue). I wonder to this day if Little Tammy man-baits anymore. What signal did she receive to push 'em out there? And if any man is behind bars, will he ever stop smiling?