Respect

“Well, I was going to give him head, but I was so drunk I was worried I’d put my eye out.”

That would be the sentence I heard as I walked up to the two ladies waiting to cross the street. Both of them stood in torn jeans, tight blouses, reflective makeup, and enough gaudy accessories to make them look sparkly. If not for having “E!” on my cable system, I might have mistaken them for beaten hookers.

Both of them looked back at me, and then turned back to the conversation without even lowering their voices.

I don’t even know what to say. I’m just too old. I can’t seem to get past the idea that you should respect and cherish the woman you are in love with. She should be a pristine thing that you want to hold above all else; whether she is a waitress, or steelworker, or mother, or lawyer, or all of them combined. These two ladies before me didn’t get that. They just wanted to be desired and didn’t even really know what that meant.

Perhaps the short attention span world we have created has transitioned over to our relationships. What a sad thing. I look at a couple of 50 years and feel a respect and pride for something I would shake the earth to have. I think these people in front of me would think of how many people they could nail in the next week. Perhaps you think it’s just how you are supposed to be in college? Perhaps, but if these two were still in college, they were PhD’s.