Awww, don’t you just love the misunderstood tweens of today? Especially the girls. You see them swaggering down the street towards you, skirt so short you can practically see their ovaries, faces caked in make-up trying and failing- miserably- to disguise the fact that they probably haven’t even hit puberty yet. You can’t help but let loose a little giggle when they turn their scowl towards you and look you up and down in disgust. You can’t help but laugh at their attempts to be “hard.” They don’t seem to like it though, when their attempts to be intimidating fail and so shout a lovely, “fuck you” at you as they walk off. Unfortunately that’s even funnier so you have to leave pretty sharpish before they decide to bitchslap you. Not that that would be particularly worrisome as they barely come past your waist, but you would still rather not get arrested for assaulting a minor.
Whenever I end up engaged in a conversation with one of these charming human beings, I can’t help but speak like I’m from eighteen hundreds. I don’t know why it is, maybe because I find it funny when they can’t understand or that it makes me feel more educated but a typical conversation would go something like this:
“Oi, yeah, wot you lookin’ at?”
“Oh, you little ruffians, I was merely gazing upon your visage with wonderment at the paint you seem to have applied to it!”
“Are you takin’ the piss or sumfink?”
“Good Heavens no! But hear? where has your skirt gone? You do appeared to have picked up a belt to wear instead. It barely covers your buttocks! Such attire is not suitable for a young lady!”
“D’ya wanna slap!?”
“Are you challenging me to a duel you scoundrel!?”
*Obvious poetic licence. I’m not a complete freak with a death wish. But I do speak weird.