Tales of a Former Heartbreaker #1

One of my proudest moments in college came not in a classroom but on my daily route to Psychological Statistics up the infamous “Rape Hill” pathway. I’ve heard stories about why it is called Rape Hill; one was an urban legend that the infamous Ted Bundy stalked a woman here. The only truth I knew was that I had to non-consensually book it up this hill in 105 degree heat or sliding around on two inches of ice, all the while trying to not pass out from over-exertion. My BMI was in check but I was severely out of shape, courtesy of a poor-student diet of Orange Bag Soup (Ramen). Okay, I’m probably being a tad bit dramatic BUT it is really how I felt.

Any who, my usual commute would involve me looking at the ground, doing my best to not make eye contact with the imminent flood of cute acquaintances that would want to catch up. I do not possess the ability to walk uphill and carry on a leisure conversation at the same time. Sometimes sunglasses and a baseball hat would be used for extra coverage. This particular day was different.

I had gotten up fairly early in order to get ready and, to my delight, my second-day hair was really killing it. I put on my face and decided that my bombshell hairdo deserved an equally heart-crushing pair of heeled boots. Satisfied with my hoisted posterior (thanks heels) and southern belle mane (thanks Aqua Net) I made my way out of the apartment and up to campus. I located my iPod in my Longchamp and turned to a recently downloaded bad girl anthem, ahem… I mean bad gurrrrl anthem: “Who Dat Girl” by Flo Rida feat. Akon. Sure, it may be about a porn star but the beat is infectious so I include it in my power-strutting playlist.

With Flo telling me he wants to know my momma’s name so he can thank her for my goodies pumping in my ear, plus my heeled boots clicking on the weatherworn asphalt, PLUS my bouncy blonde hair blowing something fierce, I approached Rape Hill with vigor. I was smiling at everyone I saw, occasionally tossing my hair for some good-natured flirting. Halfway up the hill a biker moved closer to my direction on the other side of the path. We made eye contact when he was about 10 feet away, so I decide to give him a playful wink. The guy smiled and stared at me for 30 more seconds instead of watching the path and steered straight into the metal pole dividing the lanes. He was thrust off his bike and on to the ground. Everyone around him stopped to gather his things (helmet, books, pride). I just kept on sashaying up the path, accompanied by a noticeable swagger addition to my stride. 


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