Pimps In A Blanket

I woke up this morning, walked downstairs, and there it was, sleeping on my sofa: a dyed-in-the-wool, stamped-on-every-link, all-American Pimp.

He's apparently up from Downstate somewhere; he's a friend of LJ's cousin, the one who was stranded with us for the weekend when we had the snowstorm a few months back. They whiled away that weekend pulling up pictures from the Web, of The Pimp and his cohorts at the Player's Ball. And "pimp" is not just an affectation in this case (as it is in so many others). This guy is for real. He actually IS a pimp in the commonly-accepted denotation of the word.

I, of course, assumed that this was some distant acquaintance with whom I would never cross paths. And honestly, that was just fine with me. I make no pretense of judging the choices people make as to how to live their lives, but I do have a problem with the whole pimp ethos, especially since it seems to give a lot of guys excuses to cheat on their women and exploit strangers. CR used to use the immortal bullshit line "Don't hate the playa, hate the game..." but by the time he was out of my life for good, I was more than willing to do both. LJ will tell you: I am not a trusting soul anymore. And in my current state of cynical fragility, the last thing in the world I would have admitted to wanting around the house was another one of THOSE guys.

But then last night, around 11:00, LJ's phone woke us both up; he had a brief conversation, then told me that his cousin's friend was on the way over. Of course, I had no excuse to go downstairs and get into the middle of things, especially since LJ had mentioned that they were going to be talking business (the freelance pharmaceutical distribution business, not the pimp thing.) So I stayed upstairs and just went back to sleep. And this morning, when I came downstairs: there on the sofa, a Pimp. Snoring, might I add, and with the blanket pulled up completely over his head.

They'll revoke my feminist card for this, but I gotta say I was a little impressed despite myself.

I do hope, however, that the Pimp isn't allergic to cats; the blanket under which he was sleeping just happens to be White Cat's favorite binkie, upon which he rests and sheds a thick mat of white fur and allergens, every single day for many hours at a time. And I will tell you, it's taken an effort of will to refrain from inserting an inappropriate cat-based joke in here somewhere.