This past Friday night, when the freaks that would have flooded local Wall-Marts, where does toil my associate author, the Lassie in Red, there were numerous harbingers of the End Time apparent in their expressive squalor. There was, however, one curvature of light, sculpted from the nubile stuff of life, which I tried mightily not to stare at. I do not know if she was a Wall-Mart customer. I hope she was not. She stood by me for some minutes considering her purchase, her perfume a scent or two above the gaudy reek usually preferred by midnight grocery-clerk-stalking hos.

She left me to consult Tia at the cake counter. As it was about 2:30 in the morning I assume she was a dancer or barmaid, for she had not been drinking. Tia’s boyfriend—tall and lean like her—was standing by awaiting his grocery shopping directions. It is their ritual, when he comes to pick her up from work—which makes him a cut above most modern men—for him to ask her what purchases need made. He will then shop and be checking out while she is punching out. This gets them both home in time to get a nap before their day jobs.

I regard Tia and her fellow as good people.

Just as Tia told her man the three items that needed to be purchased, the impossibly indented figure of our short high-heel-wearing white customer approached her from behind him. On instinct, hearing the high heels of seduction, Tia’s man turned and caught an eyeful of T & A so tightly packed into that wide-belted mini-skirted-bodysuit that you would think she had been gift-wrapped for Hugh Hefner’s 100th Birthday party.

As a noted scientist of human behavior, I had been dispassionately observing the young lady’s approach from a posterior vantage, so was an innocent bystander to the following tragic act. My massage therapist assures me that the kink in my neck shall heal before next week’s fight.

The man turned away from his woman—hands now on her hips—looked at the compacted Freya-like figure, thought about resuming eye-contact with his woman, and failed! Seemingly as if an unseen giant hand had forced his head back around and worked it up and down to take in all of the luscious curves, Tia’s man dangled marionette-like underneath some spell.

Tia’s hands clenched on her hips—only half as wide as the other woman’s hips—and her head began to bob. However, Dude was saved by the bell as the woman asked Tia for assistance in ordering a cake.

If this had been a scene in one of my novels I would have put the following words in Tia's mouth, "What, so you can jump out of it, bitch?"

But alas, we were presently toiling under the aegis of reality.

Her man, appreciating his plight, then went on his shopping trip, unable to remember any of the three items she had told him to get. He settled for standing by me, hoping his ass-chewing, beating, stabbing, or whatever plight Tia had planned for him, would be lessened in the presence of her benevolent “Mister Jim.”

Finally, as I finished the sour cream display, the woman left and Tia approached her man, “Nigger, tell me you remembered even a one of the items?”

Silence.

“It’s bad enough you had to dissect her Mariah Carrie lookin’ ass right in front of me, but the dick juice done backed up into yo brain and erased my words too!”

“Naw, Baby—I”

“Don’t ‘Baby’ me darn it—go-on, run on upfront and watch her leave. But don’t even let me find out you helped her with her bags or it ‘ill be all with you!”

They then both went their separate ways. Tia then thought better about something and returned to me. “I’m sorry you had to hear that, Mister Jim. I suppose you know what that was about, that you saw her.”

“Saw who?”

“Come on, Mister Jim.”

“Tia, I did not see that double-stitched lace seam struggling not to burst from the outward pressure of those over-filled F-cups. Nor did I notice that clingy 42-inch miniskirt getting sucked up under that 46 inches of cleavage.”

She cracked a smile, loosened up, and said, “Okay, I got it, if that lady comes in sharking on you, I’m not to interfere. In any case, Mister Jim, what you didn’t see was him talkin’ her up too, right in front of me while I was writing out the order. And then she squattin’ down with her knees together to get a better look at the cake case and them bobbies are like BAM! And that booty is like BABAM! And his dumbass is hypnotized by that shit.”

“Tia, in this case I say the glove does not fit. Call me Johnny Cochrane if you will, but your man is the victim in this situation. He’s being objectified.”

“Are you serious Mister Jimmy—why you’re no better.”

“Oh, better I am, Tia. I would never forget the sugar, tea and aluminum foil. Indeed, I’d memorize the lady’s cake order as well!”

“Tia, before you punish him, permit me to counsel the young man. I understand that him being so attracted to some shorty could have you feeling hurt. Permit me to reach into my vast experience in such hourglass matters and bring some peace between you.”

“Alright, Mister Jim, I’ll let it slide this one time. But remember, this world is tough on a girl that don’t fit a certain mold. Even in a market like this we gotta ho-train up in here most every night.”

Mere minutes later, the young fellow was hanging around by me, eyeing the bakery counter with trepidation, waiting for his lady to emerge at the end of her shift and scold him for still not having found the sugar, tea and aluminum foil in the memory banks that were swiped clean by the swish of that goddess booty.

I invited him into the manly circle and counseled him. “Look, Brother, you have to develop the discipline of not looking at shorties, which means practicing when your lady is not around. I’m sure, part of her insecurity has to do with the fact that that shorty that works over in the deli probably runs out from behind the counter every time you walk through the door.”

“How’d you know, man?”

“She’s a well known mudshark, a predator that is just objectifying you. That makes a sister jealous. So develop some cred with your girl by snubbing that bitch.”

“Also, knowing that you’re now loving in a long-legged world there is two things you need to know. One is, that bam-bam babe that was just in here, that took your mind and wiped it clean, I’ve got some experience with that type. Indeed that chick is built exactly like a girl I dated a while back. So when you’re thinking that the grass looks greener on the big titty side of the fence, be mindful. I was entertaining this shorty and reaching around unhooking the bra. Swear to God, my hand cramped up fumbling with all of those hooks—like how many hooks even go on one bra? Well, eventually she smiles and starts undoing it herself. I apologized, saying that I had always been good with bra straps. She then smiles at me and says, “You’re in the big leagues now,” and slung that bra across the room like it was a Kevlar vest. The thing almost took out my computer monitor, and scratched the screen—and dude, you can suffocate between those things. It’s an entirely different scale. I’m lucky she wasn’t an assassin. When they have an ass like that, it’s hard to sweep them out of the mount, when you are a narrow-assed dude.”

He was just looking at me in horror. So I laid on the second cautionary note.

“And, being a short dude, I’m well acquainted with what these long-legged girls are into. And I understand that you’re probably already planning some makeup loving. Be warned though, you need to butter her up with conversation first. Do not go down there while she is still pissed off. There is a pretty simple grappling maneuver that a long-legged person can do that will basically snap your head right off—put you unconscious at least. You might be stronger then her, but her legs are stronger than your arms and a damn sight stronger than your neck.”

We shook hands, he swallowed hard and made his way over to the counter. As Tia and her chastised man left together, I gave her the thumbs up that he had been advised against a foray into shorty world and bucked him up with words of encouragement, by way of an admonishment to Tia, “Remember Tia, he’s the victim here. He’s been objectified.”

I suppose I will find out tonight how Dude made out when they got home. Just keep in mind that when women dress super slutty in public, and have been well-enough equipped by God to make it alluring, that what they are doing is using you to humiliate other women. You are just being reduced to a net in a basketball game of the feminine mind. Furthermore, remember that the most reliable way to attract a decent girl—a woman who is looking for a guy that will treat her right, as opposed to a guy that makes X amount of money, or has a certain facial configuration—is to be seen by her resisting the very real temptation to do a double take at a woman who has dressed specifically to elicit this response from you.

I am very easily seduced into a visual response, into the double-take that got Tia’s man in hot water. However, when I’m in the presence of a woman, I’ll do what I can to minimize it and they generally appreciate the effort. My platonic buddies Ajay, Megan and my sister Terry do not want to be seen with a guy that is constantly looking at other women, because it is still humiliating to them, as the public impression is that we are together. Where these ladies are concerned, I practice the discipline of steel against eye appeal until they give me a break and say something like, “Go ahead, look.”

The main point of this piece is to remind young guys that women dress in competition with each other more than in competition for you, and that a girl you really care about can be hurt if you don’t exhibit some visual self-control.