You wore a mini dress and sandals with heels. You made forty seven children stop in front of the corn maze entrance to take photos, holding up a line a quarter mile long which had been waiting for an hour to get inside the maze, and also two, count them, two tractors pulling tons of kids.
You were beautifully coiffed and made up and spent your entire time in the corn maze charging around and whining that it was wrong to grow all this corn just to chop some of it into paths. You were completely oblivious to other persons enjoying the corn maze and would double back and stride right into them and behave as though the persons you rammed were at fault.
I was the fist that somehow never plowed into your beautiful, entitled little bitch face. You would not have noticed me, facing always the blonde lady in the Lululemon who kept consulting her texts, but I was ever poised to make your acquaintance. Sadly I was traversing the maze (maize? haha, you wouldn’t get that joke) with two young ladies who were hell bent on enjoying themselves too long to pay much attention to you, until you slammed into them twice.
If you would condescend to meet me, a lowly fist, I would be happy to travel to whatever Starbucks or blow out salon or Barney’s New York you frequent so we can finally meet fist to face. I hope I am not presumptuous in stating that your face is begging to know me intimately, even repeatedly.