There are two types of lady creeps. The baby lady creep and the dirty lady creep. I’d like to think that I’ve never been a baby lady creep. I thought of this recently while watching a grown woman batting her eyes and wearing pigtails. If you’re not grimacing hard enough to cause your face to slide right off your head, you might have baby lady creep tendencies. I’m not saying you’re a terrible person. Just that I’d rather chew on tin foil than look at you, or listen to anything you have to say while you’re baby lady creeping.
As women we’ve all fallen into situations where we’ve baby creeped or dirty creeped, and not realized it until well after the fact. I will admit I am mostly a gross dirty lady creep offender. I’m not proud of it. I was mostly a walk by, and maybe casually sniff you if you were hot as a young lady. Creepy, right? You thought only men were creepy? WRONG. I’ve broken it down into two basic categories, which I feel encapsulate most creepy lady vibes.
Baby Lady Creep:
She just wants to be a toddler forever. What’s so wrong with that? Well, nothing would be if she wasn’t wearing those frilly socks and Maryjane shoes at age 40, and sucking her thumb while sporting those damn pigtails. Anyone else feeling self conscious about workout or cleaning pigtails right now? I questioned them every time I went to do my hair in some pigtails after the age of seventeen. Are these baby creep pigtails? Are people gonna think I’m a baby creep with my hair like this? It was never worth it. I never wanted to wear my hair in pigtails that bad. Also, my head is slightly lopsided, so it just calls attention to it when I part my hair down the middle, like “HEY, LOOK AT THIS! I have a misshapen head. It’s strange isn’t it”? Maybe I have pigtail envy. Hmmm. It’s possible. I do give my child stink face when she has pigtails. Don’t look at me like that. Her head is perfectly round, and she just swishes her damn pigtails in my face all smug like a smug little turd. I’m gonna cut one off one day. I’ll blame it on her brother. It’s the perfect crime.
Baby talk is the baby lady creep’s favorite form of communication, mostly when she’s talking to her daddy, or man she’s calling daddy. I kind of think if you’re not talking to your actual father, you shouldn’t call them daddy. That’s just my opinion though.
I stopped calling my own father daddy once I turned six. I was too damn grown up for that shit, and I proved it by calling him John once, but I got in trouble. I settled on calling him dad after that. I don’t see what the big deal was anyway. He let every other person on the planet call him John. So touchy.
And my favorite, not being able to lift, carry, or do anything for yourself because you’re just too wittle (eww). Whether it’s a box, your bag or your own damn body you just need someone else to carry it for you. Now, I would love for this to be true for me in general because I’m super lazy and if I could get away with being dragged around in a wagon instead of having to walk I would. Shit, I would settle for be dragged by my pant leg to my destination to escape walking. Just put me on top of a large piece of cardboard, and drag me. See, you can tell how often I’ve thought about it. I’ve even thought about my own comfort in my plan ‘B’ scenario if no one can be talked into scenario ‘A’.
No one wants sidewalk rash up their damn back. I ain’t getting street trash on me, or dog shit smeared up my nice blazer from Target because you can’t walk around it. It ain’t that hard to walk around a dog turd left on the damn sidewalk, but I know whoever drags me is probably gonna drag me straight through it like a jerk. The cardboard will prevent all of that. Considering this part of the baby lady creep list, it isn’t all that bad. I’d be a baby lady creep if it meant my feet never had to touch the ground again. Never. Again.
The next creep, and my personal favorite, the
Dirty Lady Creep:
With a fanny pack full of pictures of cats that aren’t hers, and pictures of celebrities she’d bang that are hers. Her dickie is on point under her sweater. I mean, people think she is actually wearing a whole turtleneck under there, and she just laughs to herself. She doesn’t have enough room under that sweater for the used towel belonging to the guy she is trying to make her boyfriend through voodoo, AND a real turtleneck. Priorities people. I’ve been known to swipe something that belonged to a guy I liked. I swiped my future husband’s pants, and wore them home once.
I was later ashamed of my actions. Pay no attention to the mischievous Prince gif. No, really. I was…sort of. Don’t look at me. I said I was a dirty lady creep. I didn’t say I was reformed.
Dirty lady creeps also do not have a good understanding of personal space, privacy, or the definition of stalking. What do you mean I’m not allowed to look at your phone, and read your emails? Whatchu hiding in thurr? What do you mean get out of your apartment, or you’ll call the police because you’ve never seen me before? We saw each other this morning at Starbucks, and we had an connection at the napkin area, or was that you being a manslut? You manslut. How did I find out where you live? How DIDN’T I find out where you live? It was so easy once I swiped your wallet. You know Mr. Flirty you really should hold onto it better. It was dangling there deep in your pocket. I mean I only had to reach deep in there and dig it out. I’m surprised you didn’t scream more when I took it out, and knocked you down.
But I think out of the two, the dirty creep probably has more fun. She’s more of a criminal at times, but overall her hijinx seem to be more fun. I say it like I’m not well aware of those from first hand experience.
I don’t assault people. I swear. I’m a normal human being. I swear. You know, except for stealing the pants. I stole those, but I married him, so that cancels that out. I hope.