An Open Letter To The Construction Workers That Hit On My Girlfriend.

Soldiers at the bedrock of urban expansion like to refer to my girlfriend as hot shit

Many of you don’t believe I have a girlfriend.

That’s fine. I’m guessing that you read my writings, fall deeply in love with my scintillating charm and cannot believe I can deliver my heart-organ to just one girl.

Flattering.

The truth is, I do have a girlfriend.  She is a wonderful human being, intelligent and warm.

Also, outrageously hot.

Each morning, she walks to work past a construction site.  I stand, peering out the window in my Kansas City Royals boxer-briefs bought at a gas station.  As she walks by, several enormous gentlemen supply an array of compliments.  Here is my response to them in a brief open letter.

I thought you were a news site.  How is this news?

Construction underpins progress.  Progress fuels innovation.  News reacts to change.  Change is hope.

You just ran out of news ideas didn’t you?

Yes.

Dear Construction Guys,

First, I’d like to introduce myself. I am dating one of the young women that you yell at in the morning.  You know her?  Blond hair?  Wears heels?  Tiny outfits?  No?  Well, she’s a girl you yell at.

Trust me.

I know your job is tough.  I know it’s a pain in the ass to wake up that early and do what you do.  I wouldn’t want to do it.  In fact, I get nauseous going to Home Depot.  How do you find a nail in that place?  I just walk around aimlessly and then buy a nail at the convenience store.  You guys are brilliant.

But when you yell horrible shit at my girlfriend?  That’s got to stop. I’ve noted a few things from what I’ve witnessed.

1. Sugar-tits is not a word.  Sugar-tits?  I mean, really?  If somebody said “hey sugar-ass-crack-peeking-out-of-your-48-inch-sized-jeans”, do you think that’s a compliment?  Of course not.  And what’s with the ass-crack hanging out?  You realize it’s just out there, right?  Disgusting.  Pull up your pants. Nobody needs to see that.

2. “Come over and say hi.”  Does that even work?  Tell me one girl that has stopped walking past you, and come over to introduce herself and say hi.  Just one.  And if that’s ever happened, I know the girl that did it.  She’s blind, deaf and three hundred and eighty-four pounds right?  I took her to the Christmas dance in eighth grade.  Trust me, she misunderstood.

3. Enough with the whistling.  It’s a girl, dummies.  A girl.  Not a golden retriever.  She’s listening to her mp3 player, thumbing her iPhone, wearing  a Gucci bag.  You think whistling is going to get her to come over to you?  Why don’t you throw a Frisbee over?  Couple the whistling with the sugar-tits and finish with a Frisbee-throw and maybe she’ll drop everything she’s holding and gallop towards you. Actually, you know what?  If that works, let me know.  How cool would that be at the cottage this summer?

Look, I’m not so juvenile that I’d threaten your life or challenge you to a fight.  I’m also smart enough to realize that you’d probably kick my ass.  But the point is, lay off my girlfriend and nobody gets hurt.  Mostly me.  We spare me getting hurt.  And how annoying would that be?  Having me comatose in the middle of your construction site while you wait awkwardly for an ambulance while my girlfriend weeps by my side.

You’d be staring at her sugar-tits wouldn’t you?

Bastards.

Best regards,

T.N.