The parking lot of the pharmacy was empty, except for me walking my bike and a woman walking to her car. She was in her late thirties, wearing a black and white cheerleader uniform with bright pink slippers. She shuffled along towards her car, carrying her latest refill of medications.
"I like your slippers.", I said. I didn't want to pass this opportunity up. I liked how curvy her jiggly bits were, plus the uniform did something to my subconscious mind.
"Thank you. I actually got them from a homeboy that looks like he could be related to you." Her smile was genuine. I swam through her brightened brown eyes for the tiny moment we exchanged these words.
"Well, the next time you see him, tell him his long-lost cousin says 'hi', I said with a matching grin.
At that moment the veluptuous vixen attempted to open her car's door only to find out that she had locked her keys in her car.
"I locked my keys in there. Thank god for sunroofs!". When she said that I heard something totally different. I heard:
"I locked my son in there", is what I heard. I was about to put down my bike and help the curvaceous cougar rescue her offspring when she boosted herself upon the bumper. The flawless execution of this move told me that she had performed this paticular technique many times in the past.
I stood in amusement as the pink-footed cheerleader drifted down into the driver's seat from above.
Some people say that true love comes from above. But does it wear cheerleader uniforms with pink slippers?