One thing that I don't like about my job is the large number of women that work there. Now don't look at this as some sort of sexist remark — I don't mean it as that at all. The majority of these women are collectively setting back the Women's Movement 20 years with their incessant gossiping, carping on the dearth of good men in Atlanta (they're either married, in jail or gay, they'd say) or half-assing their jobs and getting away with it on a giggle, a hair flip or a titty bounce. Or worse, blaming it on their menstrual cycles.

As one of the few males at the admin level (and the only Black male under 30), it's kinda getting on my nerves. I'm always getting asked if I have a girlfriend or if I'm married; when I answer "no" to both questions, then the interrogation begins.

"So what kind of girl do you like?" One with testicles and a penis.
"What's your idea of a perfect romantic date with a woman?" One with testicles and a penis.
"Did you have any girlfriends when you were at Morehouse?" Well, there was that one guy….
"Tell me about your last girlfriend." I'd kinda have to have had a first girlfriend to imply that.

If I were a virile heterosexual male, this place'd be a veritable fish market. Red snapper. Angel fish. Big-mouthed bass.

Instead there's Two Ton Ass, aptly named because her posterior is so chunky that she must be housing Katrina evacuees there. She is the ringleader of these hard-up broads, often hosting a gathering of her single and lovelorn female co-workers together for an event she likes to call "Mantini Mondays".

Honestly, I can't make this shit up.

For the most part, I've tried to avoid Two Ton Ass as much as possible; not only is she extremely nosy about people's love lives, but she's a stark-raving mad bitch 22 hours out of the day. I have seen her verbally eviscerate everyone from her boss to the barista at Starbucks with no problem whatsoever. Maybe she's just a fragile flower lashing out at a world who's given her one too many shots. Or maybe she's just a strong Black woman raised to speak her mind who's somehow confused strength with assertiveness and arrogance on her journey to womanhood.

Or maybe she's just a stark-raving mad bitch. I'm going with that premise.

On Friday, Goofball and I were walking through the pedestrian bridge to the parking deck when we ran into Two Ton Ass waddling her way to her car.

"So Karsh…do you have a girlfriend?" she asked.
"No."
"Boyfriend?"
"No."
"Well at least you ain't got to work this weekend. Hell, it might be better for me if I had a man or something. At least you can go out and have a life."
I chuckle. Me having a life? Ha!
She continues. "You know, you need to come and hang out with me and my girls for some drinks one Friday after work. What are you doing tonight?"
"I've got plans." Lie.
"Plans? Plans with who? You just said you ain't got no girlfriend. What you got to do that's so important?"
Goofball chimes in with, "You know, she's right. You need to get out of that stuffy apartment and have some fun." Remind me to bitch-slap him later.
I change the subject. "Well, it is supposed to be nice this weekend. Upper 70's, I heard."
"Why are you trying to avoid the subject? What do you have to do this evening?" Two Ton Ass continues. Thankfully, my phone rang and I was able to dodge her incessant querying. Never have I been so grateful for a wrong number.

As Goofball and I drive up West Peachtree, he asks me why I lied.
"Lied about what?"
"About not having a boyfriend."
…
…
…
"Because I don't."

And that's the end of that tale.