How ’Bout that Ass?

To the gentleman who made a big show out of checking out that ladies ass and then looked up at me as if to say: “can I get a witness?”
Thank you for making my day a little brighter and my apologies if I did not present you with the desired response. I think you were expecting a look of camaraderie. Behind my imitation Ray Bans I too was looking at that lady’s ass if only for a brief moment; yes it was nice, and no probably neither of us will get a chance to know it as well as we would like. But you really were theatrical about it weren’t you? The way you stopped walking and turned around- not just your head- but the whole upper half of your body presenting an obstacle for those trying to walk past you.
I have always been, and will always be poor. I would venture to say the same thing about you. But one thing that distinguishes us is class. I don’t know if this is something I was born with or if my Dad was just not as complete a fuck up as yours obviously was. All I know is class makes me act a certain way: human. It is why I chew my food slowly when in public and tip the server when I am finished, it is why I don’t ask people for things without first exploring other avenues (probably also one of the reasons I am poor), and it is the reason I don’t stare at an ass for more than five seconds unless I am using it.
My apologies for not celebrating that ass with you. And thank you for brightening my day. I was feeling pretty shitty about myself. And then I saw you.