As I was walking back from the market in the broiling gloaming I saw in the distance a couple arguing on the lawn next to my building. Although I tried to ignore them, I found myself gawking at them surreptitiously. The young lady was wearing a gray A line suit with the skirt hitting just below the knees, a long sleeve jacket and an envelope hat. He was dressed in true bro style: shorts, ripped t-shirts flip flops and a man bun. Not just any man bun but one that was dyed bright pink with the rest of his brown hair frosted at the tips.
I tried to walk past quickly but it was then I heard their voices in this disagreement about something in a language that sounded like English but the words seemed to be in all the wrong places for the standard subject, object, predicate style; these were my neighbors across the driveway, they of the ‘Angry Chair‘ karaoke and the decision that every song needs a hip hop beat behind it. All surreptitiousness left me. I just turned and glared.
“Do you have a problem,” A Line asked me with a true tone of shrill righteous indignation in her voice.
I quickly regained my composure. “I’m loving your outfit. The Maxene Andrews homage? Love it! Truly fabulous.”
“This look is totally my creation. I would never stoop to look like some stupid disco singer from 1979!” With that she turned on the heel of her Spectator pump and jumped into the Lyft that had just arrived for her.
I turned back and Man Bun was standing in a pose that was half run in the house half let me get in your face. “You are so sexist,” he said and marched into the house.
I walked the last 10 feet back to the house confused. I know I had been properly chastised but I’m not quite sure for what.